


I.O.U

by Reservation_Red



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 1930s, F/F, F/M, Mafia AU, Other, Reiner-Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5780398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reservation_Red/pseuds/Reservation_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reiner came from a respected and humble line of dedicated Police Chiefs. However, his will is put to the test when the influential Rod Reiss files a report for the return of his daughter, Historia Reiss, from the infamous clutches of the enigmatic Mafia Overlord Ymir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Big Apple & Its Worms

**[ Howl by The Family Crest is the song of this fic.]**

Pops always said, ' _if you do your part then the world would do its deed for you._ '

"Thank you so much," a woman was near tears, holding onto the relief provisions, "thank you so much."

Her children were clamoring to her skirt, staring at the food, eager as they tugged at her sleeves, begging to go home and eat.

"No problem, miss. It's a pleasure to serve," I smiled and she bowed her head for a moment, blessing me and bidding good luck before scurrying off as another came to receive.

A lot of people were hit when the stock market crashed—many lost their jobs and houses.

Each Christmas got bleaker as the catalogues in the mail contained more and more 'Christmas Guns' for the mourning father who couldn't provide for his family.

People banked on their misery and struggle.

"You're welcome," Bertolt was beside me, smiling as another woman grinned, clinging to her food with tears as her children, too, cried to be fed immediately.

Bertolt's eyes kept glancing through the window, though, to the people across the street.

They wore fine trench coats and dresses, but their cheeks were gaunt and their eyes hollow, watching the relief camp distribute to those in need.

"Reiner, why don't they come in, too?" He quietly asked as I packaged a box with the essentials and gave it to the next.

"Pride," I said because all they would do was watch, held fast by their sense of pride that they were above begging for food and water.

The small station near the shipyard was made into a temporary Relief Station for those struggling. It was optional for the officers to participate—most of it was ran by the operator gals in the main building—but I thought it was good to give back to the community.

My father and his father believed in the honest of hard work and kindness was the rule of thumb for success. All the men before me were part of the police force, working hard to bring peace and justice to all.

It was only right that I followed their steps—I felt the very calling they did, too, for this line of work.

"Ah, Mister Braun," the captain came in, smoking on his stogie and pulling it out to flourish in his hand, gesturing to the station, "it's all aces, baby, aces—look at this. What a view!"

By the time he got to me his head was only to my chest.

"Mr. Springer, how's the wife?" I asked, shaking his hand.

"Swell! Ol' Sash has taken to the house real well—she makes the meanest steak," he grinned.

"Good," I nodded, withdrawing my hand when he was happy with the greeting.

"What brings you here, sir?" Bertolt asked. I inwardly sighed.

Bertolt was never good with pleasantries.

"Ah, yes, yes," Connie waved his question off, "come with me."

I watched him, wondering why he'd bring us out and about—he even was hiding his buzzer underneath his coat as we left, leaving the rest of the relief to the women.

"Y'see, we were gettin' some info from this grifter," we walked down the street and drifted off into an alleyway—down its dank and pungent stone we saw police officers surrounding a man on the ground, bloodied and bruised but alive.

"Grifter got tired of competition, I think—we'll get them another day since they traded some valuable ear for us to leave them alone for a bit." Connie threw his smoke down into a puddle and stood above the man, staring at him.

His suitcase was right by him, pried open and broken with white substance everywhere.

"This guy been selling Cadillacs since he crossed the Ol' pond," Connie sighed, nodding to his other officers to leave.

They left and Bertolt's eyes were just eyeing the stuff.

I bumped his shoulder with mine and he glanced up at the captain as Mr. Springer turned to look at us.

"The whole relief station? It was a good excuse for the civilians to overlook the extra men around here. This guy," Connie squatted down to hold the man's chin, shifting it left to right, examining him closely, "he didn't see it coming and we got our perp."

"But this is bigger than just catchin' small fry."

"Of course, sir," I agreed because his logic was right on the mark.

"Look at the undamaged merch."

When Bertolt leaned down, I shook my head, making him pull back as I analyzed it myself.

On each packet was a waltzing beast and woman with the initials D. T.

"Dancing Titan, huh?"

It was one of the bigger gangsters around, selling alcohol, owning speak-easies, and dishing out the local supply of heavy drugs. They've been chiseling at New York since the start of the Prohibition.

"Yep. They're getting cocky, Braun," he sighed.

"And what are we supposed to do?" Bertolt asked.

Bertolt was my childhood friend—we played baseball and all in the old fields with other kids—but his lack of patience for small talk would be the end of him. His fingers were jittery and he shakily pulled out a cigarette, striking it and puffing nervously.

"You two just got into the force—new faces and all. My other men be known around these parts and all. We need someone for a recent assignment of utmost importance, yeah? Well, c'mon."

Connie stood back up, pausing.

"Bertolt, get the dogface. Reiner, get the cadillacs. The stuff that's ripped—stamp it out or find some water to get rid of it. Don't need no kids thinkin' it be candy." Connie sighed, leaving them.

"I will be waiting in the flivver."

With that the captain left us with the work.

I was quickly and efficiently throwing the packets back into the suitcase, cleaning away the stray cocaine from wherever it might've been.

"You need to be careful," I whispered to Bertolt who was patting the unconscious man down.

"It's hard to understand Mr. Springer, huh? He's trying too hard to be the 'bee's knees.'" Bertolt lightly jested.

"Y'hear me?" I said again and Bertolt stopped.

He glanced over towards me, but his eyes were locked on the cocaine.

He was getting that face again—the desperation, the tiredness, and then the defeat.

"Y-Yeah."

We were always friends, but Bertolt got in with the wrong people before—he tried all sorts of things and got addicted to it. He had been two years strong but I knew he was still a man of the Earth and such things would always tempt him.

Just like all those women and hole-in-the-walls.

"Up we go," I picked up the suitcase and we left to whatever Captain had in store for us.

-x-x-x-

"This case is going to be led by one of our private investigators," Connie murmured, slapping the manila folder down, spewing its contents upon the coffee-stained desk.

"But our main catch here is this looker—Historia Reiss," he fished a stack of pictures from the pile, revealing a beautiful, small blonde that had the softest of eyes and smiles.

"She's blonde, blue eyes like clear skies, boys—" he nodded, "I had the pleasure to see her a few times at the balls. Always good girl."

"Has she gone missing?" Bertolt asked and Connie nodded.

"Where was she last seen?" I asked, taking the pictures and staring.

She was so beautiful.

"She was in jail before disappearing."

"Jail?!" I felt myself gawk.

"Yeah. Dig this, Braun—her father and her were leaving an upper-crust party—yeah?—and one of our boys pulled them over and found a stash of drugs. This was about five years ago."

"Wait, how old is she?"

"Read the paper, Braun," Connie nodded to the documents Bertolt had.

"She was sixteen at the time." Bertolt told me.

Sixteen and went to prison?

"Why would someone like her have the drugs?" Bertolt asked.

Connie and I glanced at him.

"She ain't the type to be holdin'," Connie stated the obvious.

"So…that means…?"

"It means she took the fall for ol' daddy." Connie flushed out more pictures, showing her in jail.

"Ol' dad must've felt bad because he broke her out a year later." He showed her leaving.

But not alone.

"Who's this?"

"Ymir," Connie spoke and I shot him a surprised look.

"Yeah… It seems he felt guilty to get her out, too, before she was the big-shot we know today. Historia made a little, bad friend."

"How could Rod agree to this?" No doubt Historia was a sweet girl who tried to be friends with even the sourest of people.

And it finally bit her.

"Like I said, Rod had no idea what hell he unleashed until Historia disappeared a week after being out of the slammer."

"Has she been seen since then?" Bertolt asked.

"Of course she has," I sighed. It would've been four years of a cold case if she wasn't.

"Since then she had been seen all over New York with her gal pal," Connie showed more, "at the balls, speak-easies, and what not. The thing is, though, boys, is that she has never once been seen alone."

The pictures showed Ymir with her arm around Historia at all times.

"She's a crossdresser?" Bertolt whispered, pointing to Ymir.

"Looks like it."

"Confused ol' thing." Connie snickered.

"Anyways, the thing is—we think she's Ymir's moll."

"What?" Bertolt asked, caught off guard.

Now, it was strange to find people liking their own kind. Mostly happened in people who were mentally cracked up or had something happen to make them think wrong.

Most doctors agreed it was from bad parenting and the new sicknesses.

"Not by choice, though, right?" I asked.

Historia was too good for it.

"Definitely not by choice."

"Now, Reiss can't get close or get anyone in—Ymir got it thick, y'see, and knows when people infiltrate… except now."

Someone came from the corner of the dark room, making the two of us jump.

"This is the spook whose been in since day one," Connie nodded to the woman in the coat. She wore men's clothes as well.

Bertolt's face was red at the realization.

"Private Investigator Annie Leonhardt." She didn't offer a shake of hand as she stood behind Mr. Springer.

"Now, she'll be the one to cover ground with you guys. You're new recruits and you must abide to all her words, y'hear?"

A woman in the field?

That was unheard of but it made perfect sense.

Ymir would have to worry about a man infiltrating, but she'd never expect a pretty little thing.

"I-I-It's nice to meet you!" Bertolt was the first to clamor, hesitantly reaching out to shake her hand.

"Charmed." She shook his and didn't budge until Connie waved for her input.

"If you read the tale of the Beauty & the Beast, you will remember how the Beauty was held captive and eventually grew to love the Beast." Annie commented, shuffling the unsettled papers into organized stacks.

"I believe this is the same as Historia to Ymir. She seems to be starting to love her chains and Rod Reiss is begging us to get her out of there before it's too late." She murmured, happy with the cleanness and went back to her previous frozen state.

"So… we're here to retrieve Historia Reiss?"

"Yes but to do so without conflict." Connie barked, firm.

"What, why no conflict?" Bertolt finally asked a questioned that begged to be answered.

"Think about it—Ymir owns all of the slums and New York's sinful groups. If we took her Beauty away, what will the Beast do?"

"She would rip everything till she got to her…?"

"Exactly. If we can slip her away before she notices, we can get her to safety and finally get this dog on a leash and send her to the pound for good." Connie smiled.

"Is it clear?"

"Yes, sir." We nodded.

"Good." Annie commented, closing her eyes and adjusting her overcoat.

"We will begin early tomorrow by the docks. Leave your badges at home."

Leonhardt passed us but stopped short.

"Oh, also, Mister Braun, is it?"

"Yes?" I replied, frowning.

"Don't let your feelings get in the way."


	2. Big Boy Pants

"You have the body of King Kong," Annie mentioned when we stepped out of our new apartment. She had insisted we buy 'normal' clothes and that we get a flea-bank of an apartment near the bay. It smelled like piss and death.

"Oh, do you like motion pictures?" Bertolt asked, smiling at Annie, but she didn't even spare him pleasantries.

"Not much." She glanced away at the window, pulling out her brass tin of cigarettes. When I thought she'd grab one she'd only stroke the stick, thoughtfully.

"Maybe we should watch it when it comes out," I suggested, smiling and earning her glance.

"Oh?"

She was still clad in professional garb despite the slums. It made her stick out a bit but not enough—many high class ladies came to the slums to find speak-easies.

Women of her class deserved better, but her line of work also called for different tastes.

"M-My treat," Bertolt sweetened the deal with such honey I wished I could pat him on the back.

Annie snapped her case shut and stood.

"Regardless," she easily brushed us off—what a woman.

Certainly giving Bertolt a run for his money.

"I will be introducing you two as two farmer boys coming in the city for work, because your family can't support itself. You two were childhood friends." She went towards the door but Bertolt raced past her, opening it for her. She didn't even pause as she strode past and down the narrow staircase littered with bottles and newspapers and dirty rags.

"Anything else you want us to do or not do in particular?" I asked because Bertolt shot me a glance, confused as to why she was not responding to any advance whatsoever.

Guy never had hots for a woman until now. Of all the dames…

"Historia and Ymir will be there," she spoke.

Hm.

"Historia and Ymir?" I questioned because investigators hardly ever used first names.

Annie gave a pursed smile when we hit the bottom of the stairwell and out onto the streets.

"I've been on this case for two years." She stated without much else to go off of.

"I take it you work closely with the two?"

"You could say that."

Bertolt caught up to walk side by side with us.

"You interact with them?"

Annie didn't respond as the tin cans went flying up and down the street with pedestrians racing back and forth in the timed gaps between.

"Let's start off with basics— Ymir is highly protective of Historia. She will and always will challenge you to drinking or pool or cards or anything of her choosing if you so as much try to get too close." Annie stated.

No wonder Historia could never manage to get away.

"So choose your words and choice of approach wisely. Also, do not dare to get Historia alone. That will set up all alarms to Ymir—she's highly possessive of her."

"Jeez. That's just terrible," Bertolt sighed.

"Why haven't you turned them in yet? Poor girl." He continued.

"It is not that simple." She merely responded as we crossed the road, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a sputtering buggy.

"Eh? I would think otherwise…" Bertolt muttered, frowning.

"I am all up for debating that topic, Mister Fubar, but from my understanding our careers vary quite vastly to what you're assuming." She coldly shot, glaring at him.

Poor guy pulled back from the conversation real quick with that shot. She didn't have to be so harsh.

"Historia also prefers to stay near the open windows of joints—she doesn't like the smoke and commotion. You can talk over there just fine. Ymir often lets her be when she lights her cigars or cigarettes." Annie informed.

I didn't know where we were going exactly except that the streets were dwindling and traffic became less riotous and more orderly.

The usual paperboys were nowhere to be seen and the dressing occasion drastically contrasted to either dirty rags or sharp coats.

"This is Dancing Titan's turf," Annie whispered as we passed a group of men smoking near a gang of boys who were reading the newspaper to them as they got their boot's shined. They all stared at us from under their fedoras until we got out of earshot.

"Walls have ears, boys." Annie warned.

"Historia also enjoys walks in the garden, but refrain from going out there without reason. Ymir shot a man last time he approached Historia alone in their gardens."

"Jesus Christ." I growled.

The woman was lording over the poor girl, keeping her from the world.

"What can we do?" I asked because the more Annie spoke the more she was making it sound like our mission was impossible. The goal itself was vague—infiltrate and try to get a feel of the place and record the weak points of the joint and then eventually get Miss Reiss out and smoke the place out afterwards.

If we could just get that done, I sighed, the streets would be much safer…and Miss Reiss could be happy and safe…

"What you can do is play on Ymir's latest desire…"

"Oh?" Bertolt was genuinely intrigued as was I.

Was she showing signs of overcoming her mental illness?

"She has been feeling lonely as of lately due to Historia's gentle guidance."

"Lonely?" Bertolt blushed.

Annie sighed.

"I swear… She is lonely for companionship—friends. She wants to have friends."

"Friends?" I barked out a laugh.

Who'd want to be friends with a senseless killer?

One who shot a man out of blind jealousy just because he talked to her mistress in the garden?

"I find it almost as hilarious as you two being quite eager to play seducer," Annie was not in the least impressed.

"That's more believable that Ymir would want a man over friends," I retorted and Annie shook her head.

"It's a mental illness, Miss Annie," Bertolt spoke quietly, scared of her iciness, "I'm sure Miss Ymir could recover and rejoin society one day—"

"I digress—I can guarantee you two will be killed in the most gruesome ways if you ever speak of Historia and Ymir's relationship like that in front of them and their posse."

I chalked up my laughter and shrugged.

Part of being a cop was sometimes realizing that while people were in the thick of things they tended to forget how bad things were.

When this was all over I hoped everyone would come out safe and good.

Even the Dancing Titan herself.

"All you have to do is become friends with Ymir…and by doing that you'll inevitably become close with Historia." Annie spoke as Bertolt's eyes went skyward, tilting his head back.

Before us was a large building that wasn't spared in extravagance—white ornate designs were topped with shiny, polished brass. There was a fountain before the building and the apartments and places around it were under construction.

"Jesus," Bertolt whistled, impressed.

It was like we turned a corner in the slums and landed in the diamond city.

"Despite what you assume, you'll find Ymir more pleasant. She does care for those who're in her group." Annie even had a smile.

It definitely went to show she did—the place was bustling with improvements and children in good, clean clothes.

Women were hanging their clothes on lines in the alleyways—I gave a testing whiff and it didn't smell terrible here.

It smelled like baked bread, vanilla, and the faint hint of flowers.

Home.

I sighed, pulling out my cigarettes, shaking my head.

Father was right.

Even the cruelest monsters had some humanity in them.

"Look alive," Annie gave us our last bid of luck before walking to the front doors of the classy speak-easy.

The men at the doors gave a nod, opening it for us, and immersing me into a foreign scene. Bertolt didn't seem fazed as the smell of booze hit me hard.

After so long it had been unfamiliar as I licked my lips, almost tasting it.

Girls in skimpy outfits were smiling and waving at us while serving the varied patrons of all classes—rich, poor, middle, skilled, and all.

A band was playing in the corner to a throng of dancing couples, laughing and enjoying themselves, unaware to the heartbreak of the nineteen-thirties and its great depression.

However, in the opposite corner of the band, furthest in the back, was the VIP. Layer after layer of tuxedo men and their openly brandished guns guarded the spot as I could only see a woman with a fedora holding a blonde in her lap, throwing her hands around about something.

"There they are," Annie led us towards the back, getting clearance from the walls of personal guards until we were stepping up the stairs to the elevated booth.

The table in the middle had boxes of Cuban cigars and cartons of top tier cigarettes, adorned with misplaced chocolates from decadent names, and perfect red roses tossed off to the side with the small note 'To Historia, my sunshine'.

Ymir didn't seem to care for expenses.

"Annie," Ymir spoke and her voice was surprisingly deep and refined like the wine she drank on.

"Ymir, Historia," Annie sat down on the opposite seat, eyes closed and sighing.

But I could barely even pay attention.

Before me sat a goddess—she was absolutely stunning. She took the stars and spotlight of Hollywood in mere heartbeats and throbs.

"Annie! I missed you!" Historia chimed, smiling brightly.

Ymir's eyes narrowed, glancing at Annie.

The ice queen shuddered.

I didn't even think anything could get under that woman's thick skin.

"So these are the two boys?" Ymir asked, leaning back, arms protectively seizing Historia's body close to hers.

"Fresh from the farm," Annie humored lightly much to my surprise. I didn't think she was capable of small jests.

"So," she rolled her shoulders, popping the joints as Historia's eyes were on Bertolt and then mine.

Her eyes stayed as a small, inviting smile came upon her lips.

"I heard you two are struggling…your family and all, yeah? Well, don't look any further if you want some good work."

"Honest work?" Bertolt asked, smiling, earning a deep, disapproving glare from Annie.

"Hah," Ymir snorted, tapping Historia's hip as the blonde leaned forward, showing off the priceless jewelry adorning her neck. She picked up a piece of chocolate and hand fed it to Ymir.

It looked absolutely sweet—the treat—but it was making my stomach roll in distress.

Ymir was the Mafia prince who had sunk three officers from another department for seizing property belonging to her, leaving only their wedding rings and severed fingers for the family and chief as a warning.

She knowingly killed respectful men who had families just to prove a point.

And here she was, taking and forcing a sweet, innocent girl into being her play toy for her sick games.

"Don't worry, farmboy," Ymir addressed me head on, picking up on my souring mood.

Damn.

She could read people.

"I promise you won't be killing or anything if you don't want it, but you'll be doing some small business. Work your way up and we'll be talking more of the shady shit," she licked Historia's finger of any stray chocolate.

Historia laughed but her eyes still hadn't left me.

It was unnerving me.

What was she trying to say?

I could tell she wanted to say something but what?

Her eyes…were pleading.

"O-Okay… thank God." Bertolt whispered, holding himself as if he was relieved.

Ah, good—playing the innocent but desperate man. Bertolt was good at that from his druggy days.

"You'll be sticking around here as basic henchman, y'hear?" Ymir nodded, motioning to the establishment.

"Make sure people don't start anything, look out for shady people, and the general bouncer things… do good and you'll move along with a bigger pay stump."

"We will make sure your families are taken care of," Historia spoke, smiling so kindly.

"I wouldn't be able to sleep if I knew one of our boy's families were hurting," Historia pressed her face to Ymir's shoulder, closing her eyes and resting me from her covetous gaze.

"Baby doll, you're too kind." Ymir spoke in such a way that it seemed mocking.

Taking her kindness for granted…

"I will set them up then," Annie spoke, nodding as Ymir shrugged, not caring anymore as her eyes went back to the band, foot tapping to the beat as Historia merely lounged.

"Perhaps we'll see you again, farmboys," Historia gave the cutest little hand wave at us as we departed.

Ymir glared at her, shaking her before Annie slapped my shoulder.

"Knock it off, King Kong, you're going to blow it," she hissed as we were heading behind the bar to what I assumed was the main room of business.

"Sorry, I'll pull it together," I cleared my throat.

Even Bertolt was sweating, fidgeting.

"Reiner…you can always talk to the chief!" He blurted, panicking suddenly.

"See if you can get a different job! I'm sure someone else—" Annie slapped him quickly, infuriated, and glancing around to make sure nobody was listening.

"Shut up, you egg," she seethed, "or else I will put you down myself!"

Bertolt whimpered and I sighed, moving between the two.

"Bert, buddy," I rubbed his shoulder, smiling, because he was always the weaker one out of us regarding nerves, "I understand it's scary…but think of it—Fubar and Braun, bringers of justice! New York's heroes!"

He was shaking, fiddling with his fingers.

"B-But Reiner—what if—what if we get caught—what if—"

"Bert," I reasoned, patient and kind, "together, you and me, pal, we got this… Just collect yourself, alright? Get those jitters out… we got this under our belt."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Annie analyzing us, quiet like the shadows in the dim place, calculating.

I knew Bert's slip would cost us major points—especially him scoring a date—but I'm sure she understood. Women always got cold feet and indecisive.

"Let's go…unless you really want to go now…" Annie said, word for word.

Bertolt didn't say anything but turn his face from her, embarrassed.

No.

I wasn't going to leave.

This was my chance to prove my worth.

Father always said if you put the work in then the world would reward you.

Good men always won.

The good guys always prevailed.

"Let's get started," I slapped my hand on Bertolt's back, grinning.

Annie only gave Bertolt a warning glance but it softened.

"I apologize for slapping you." She nodded at him and we were back on task.

We went through a door and were in a long hallway—no guards.

It could potentially be a good place to sneak in.

"Reiner," Bertolt's voice was soft, "I'm so sorry."

"Hah! It's okay! As long as you got my back," I grinned at him and he shook his head.

"O-Of course. Always."


	3. The Gangster's Moll

"Taken for chumps," I growled, slopping the mop onto the floor.

It had only been a day but our shift started at sunrise, cleaning and prepping the joint for the opening at lunch.

"It isn't so bad," Bertolt smiled.

Of course he was the more kind-hearted out of us. He was a gentle guy since the beginning. Just got in the wrong crowd for a while.

I glanced over at the counter, seeing the senior janitors slacking off, smiling and sipping on drinks with a single white line on the counter.

Bertolt wasn't even paying attention to it, or he was doing a good job of pretending.

"How's your family?" I asked, remembering his mom wailing when I pulled him out of a scuffle, bloodied and bruised. The pained and disappointed look of his father as we pulled him up in the chair, examining him as his mother and sisters patched him up.

All over a small cadillac.

"They're doing okay," he smile was so soft and gentle—warm memories. Good ones.

"Yeah…?" I had accidentally read one of his corresponding messages to his father, telling him to not worry and that money was on the way. His father must've got laid off at the factory. His sisters and mom were working day and night in the textiles, earning enough to stay afloat in-between Bertolt's monthly checks.

"Well, dad is getting used to it—he's getting old—and has been going to the barn to fix up old watches and things. Hobbies, I guess… Mom and my sisters are doing well—no complaints, but things could be easier." He spoke as I leaned against my mop, watching him clean.

Always without complaint. His family was always hard workers.

"And, you, Reiner? How about your family?" He asked, peering over as he kept mopping.

Mother was always a good woman. She always went to church, baked for everyone on the block, and gave bible study and piano lessons to the kids. The old man was sickly, though, but he was stubborn and strong and would do things his own way—always working on his car and reading catalogues about motors. He used to be the police chief in New York, but one bullet to the knee put him out of commission. He retired upon the surgeon and doctor's request, but his respect and integrity in the force never left.

Now, his parents spent time out in the countryside—pleasant and blissful and forever happy, always sending letters and hoping he'd come home and take it easy.

"Eh, they're the same as always—happy and healthy." I scrubbed my nose from an itch.

"Hey," one of the bastards at the counter spoke up as his buddy did a line, "you, gorilla, get back to work."

I frowned, watching, unhappy at their obvious laziness as they lollygagged.

"How about you earn your keep, too?" I asked, nodding at him.

The old man furrowed his brow, yellow teeth glinting for a moment.

"And work with a gorilla? You're nuts, boy. Get to work."

I snorted.

I was taught that men often criticized what they could never have or deeply envied. I was built strong to carry the burdens of the people, my family, and friends.

Think positive.

I elbowed Bertolt, smiling.

He laughed a little.

I was so very proud of him for staying away from the drugs. That was the Bert I knew and always knew was there. He just needed some push and shove one day and support the next.

It was quiet except for our footsteps, the bastards' laughing and snorting and sneezing, and the tapping of somebody's foot.

Then there was a crash.

I shot up, glancing around, but the other men didn't even seem fazed. They just kept playing their card game, ignoring everything.

Glass broke.

Muffled screaming.

"Wh-what's that?" Bertolt questioned, sweat dropping down his forehead.

"Eh, lover's quarrel," one of the men said, slapping down a card, causing the other man to groan, forking over some green.

Another glass broke somewhere above.

I could hear foot stomps and even louder yelling.

"They work it out. Miss Historia mends it," the man chuckled fondly as if it was silly as a puppy chasing its own tail.

"Don't think much of it. Just passionate, those two," the men spoke kindly of it despite being vulgar and gross earlier.

I didn't understand—this was a violent fight as I heard some scuffling above. How could this be fine?

Mom and pops never fought like this. They always sat down and spoke to each other and hashed it out. Only once or twice had I ever saw pops slap mom but that was when she was hysterical over things and needed to be brought to.

This—

"Knock it off!" I heard someone gasp but I couldn't tell who—it was so faint.

"I'm going to check on them," I quickly intervened, setting my mop away. The two men glanced at each other and sighed.

"Sure thing, farmboy, do yerself in, then. They'll just shoo you off—let the women be, yeah?" The darker man spoke up finally, but I ignored his advice and went to the hall and stairwell up into the private loft.

I only opened the door to hear glass scrape against the wooden floor.

I glimpsed down to see a broken vase with red roses littered everywhere, tarnishing any innocent romantic notion I might've thought Ymir had for Miss—

"I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth!" I heard Ymir's voice roar, short and flaring with temper.

"I swear to God and all his angels, Historia—you're asking too much! Don't you ever listen to yourself?!"

The door was wrenched from hand as it flew open with Ymir quickly putting on her coat, looking over her shoulder.

"When I get back, you better straighten up! I'm not going to play your damn mind games—this is a business and despite what you think, I'm an honest gal, y'hear?!"

Ymir rushed forward, glaring, but slammed right into me, growling, hand going straight to her pistol. Instinctively, I wanted to reach for my own but I froze in terror like how any farmboy would at realization.

"You," she growled and then softened. She sized me up, snorting.

"You will do fine—take care of my girl here, will you? Dollface is being a pain in the ass." Ymir nodded to Historia's direction, but I couldn't take my eyes off of Ymir.

She was leaving without resolving the issue?

"Why're you leaving?" Historia's voice begged and I finally peered over to see tears in her eyes.

Ymir glanced back and then glared at her.

"Knock it off with those crocodile tears—don't pay attention to her, you'll just encourage this bullshit," Ymir gruffly shoved past me and stopped.

"Make sure she don't leave or do anything stupid, alright? I'm going to do so business—and, also, if I hear or get wind you doing anything shady to my girl I will fucking gut you and feed you to the ocean, y'hear?" Ymir warned and then slunk away with men coming from a nearby room, tailing her to attend to whatever shady agenda she had going.

Remember, the room a few feet down and to the right—full of henchmen? Will investigate later.

"I—oh dear," Historia was lost on her words as I stepped in the room, keeping the door open.

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked because her beautiful crystalline eyes were staring out the second story window. Her body was petite and beautiful in every way, wearing a simple yellow sundress, charmed with expensive jewelry.

"Oh, um," Historia shot up, drying her tears with a satin handkerchief and clearing her throat, "here…please, sit down, let me get you tea…"

Ah.

When did I last have tea?

Mom made really good tea—sun brewed in the window with lemons.

I wonder if Historia would give mom a run for her money.

"Ah, thank you," it was kind of her to be hospitable, "but, Miss Reiss, what about you?"

"No, no," she smiled despite it all, "allow me…Mister Braun, is it?"

"Thank you." I smiled but it fell short when she went past me—there were bruises on her wrists.

I felt something bitter get into my mouth upon sight.

How could Ymir say she loves her if she hurt her?

"Excuse me," she left to what appeared to be a small side kitchen. Despite the luxuries, it seemed like Historia was old fashioned regardless of social status—she still cooked.

What a lovely girl.

While she was busy, I scoped the room out—plush red velvet, dark mahogany, brass and gold adornments, books of travelling and business lining the walls, large windows overviewing the courtyard, a lot of pictures—all of them were of Ymir and Miss Historia somewhere in the world, smiling and doting on each other.

It made me sad.

How long had Ymir been hurting her?

In those pictures they looked very happy but I was seeing that it might've not been at all like that.

I checked at the wall behind me, seeing wet splatters over it of wine and water, petals stuck on the wallpaper, and the mess littering the ground with shards of glass and flower stems.

No wonder why Mr. Reiss had filed for Historia's return.

His daughter was in danger… and she was so small and polite… she wouldn't stand a chance in a fight if Ymir let her anger get the best of her.

"Sorry for the wait," she smiled, coming out of the kitchen with a silver tray with a steaming pot of tea and its ornate cups.

"No, no, thank you very much, Miss Historia." I bowed my head as she put it on the coffee table, pouring me a cup.

"Any sugar?"

"Ah, no thank you." I smiled, taking it with great pleasure. Our fingers even brushed a bit—she was so soft.

"I like mine sweet," she smiled, sitting on the opposite sofa from me, putting a generous amount of sugar in hers, stirring and sipping, but the gesture was vacant.

Her eyes were lost.

Her hand shook.

"Sometimes," she caught me off guard, "I wonder if Ymir ever truly loves me."

I nearly choked on my tea at her sudden confession.

Historia glanced up at me with such a wry smile. It felt uncharacteristic of her.

"She always leaves after arguments and comes back home later, drunk…and I smell perfume on her—she doesn't wear perfume… and next day she's head over heels, screaming my name and her love to the stars." They were weak words, trembling as she clung to her tea.

"What do you mean…you think she's…?"

"I think she has a mistress, Mister Braun," she began to shake, sniffling and then crying, burying her face into her spare hand, looking away, trying to hide from that pain and my eyes.

"What? That's preposterous! No mistress could amount to you!" I blurted, angry at seeing such a good girl be treated so badly.

Historia could have any man in the world yet she was giving into some evil street vermin like Ymir!

The nerve!

Historia stared at me with hope, shushing and then trying to smile so bravely.

"I'm afraid I have a hard time believing your words, but they warm my soul," Historia admitted, "but…I feel like one day Ymir will lose interest…and just keep me here for show like I'm some—some trophy she stole!"

"No, Miss Historia, never! Ymir, she—well, she should know what a catch you are! No way she could be cheating or think less of you!" I defended because I couldn't speak ill of her.

Annie had sent a complaint to the office to Mr. Springer. I heard them argue and how she wished for us to be taken off the case because our major slip at first, but Mr. Springer knew it was just jitters and insisted.

After all, the only other person who was available for the job, Mr. Springer laughed, was Marco Bott.

He was right, though, at not even humoring putting Bott on the case—boy was barely seventeen and hadn't even grown his first chin hair. All he did was work with the women in the office.

Plus, his shot was shoddy work and his usefulness was just being a good guy. Too pure for this kind of stuff.

It was easy to say Annie immediately retracted her inquiry for reassignment at that.

"I sure hope so… but, I worry—Oh, I must seem so very foolish to you… I-I just can't handle the idea that Ymir might be seeing another woman… can—No…I'm so selfish."

I was brought out of my head at her pleading look.

"What is it, Miss Reiss?"

"I—I just want to know—I need to know, Mister Braun, if Ymir is seeing anyone…and I am selfish—I am such a fool—but I beg…I plead…I must ask of you to look into this—see if you can find who Ymir is seeing if there's anyone! It's the only thing that'll lay my heart to rest!" Historia took my hands in hers and I felt blood rush to my cheeks.

"Please, I know you're a man to do the right thing—I can see it in the way you walk, Mister Braun!"

Oh.

What a charming woman.

"I will do what I can, Miss Reiss," I nodded, pulling my hand back politely after savoring her touch for a moment.

"You will?"

"Yes, absolutely… to not help a beautiful woman in need would be outright sinful of me."

Historia blushed and turned away, smiling, wiping her tears again the handkerchief—ah. It was embroidered.

' _My starlight, my sunshine_ '

"So… do you have an idea of who it may be? Perhaps?" I asked, licking my lips, trying to get back on case.

It might also be valuable information for the case. It could also serve as bait to help rescue Miss Reiss before Ymir could even retaliate.

The damn bastard.

"I…I think so." Historia held herself, bringing her knees up to her chest in distress.

Thankfully her dress was long enough to keep her decent.

"Who may it be?" I pulled out my notebook and pencil I always kept with me, ready to write down details.

"I think… it may be Annie Leonhardt."

My pencil dropped.


	4. Femme Fatale

"Where is Annie?" I asked Bertolt, glancing around.

Calmly.

Bertolt had finished the job and the other two became closer friends with him in fact, allowing him to sit in their group and lightly joke with him.

"Hm?"

"Why do you want Ol' sweetheart?" One of the men asked, chuckling.

"Did you get your ass handed to you and need to cry to someone?"

I laughed because it seemed like what a normal person would do. I couldn't show Bertolt about Annie's situation—he'd be heartbroken knowing a good, strong woman had to let a Mafia lord do her in.

"Hm. She left with Ol' Titan earlier." One man licked his finger, slapping down another card, shrugging.

Bertolt even had his own hand, smiling softly and triumphantly producing the winning hand.

"Aw, blast it."

"Eh, why, did Miss Historia ask you to go after her?" The man adjusted his hand.

Who were they exactly?

Bertolt was all friendly with them now.

Bert must've picked up my suspicion because he smiled.

"Ah! Um, Reiner, this is Marcel and Berwick."

They mustered a smile for Reiner.

"Ah, pleasure," I brought my arm out to give handshakes, but they merely stared at it and snorted, shaking their heads.

"Polite for a farmboy."

"Manners were utmost," I told them, frowning, "Pa would grab a willow if I wasn't."

"Oh? Good papa," Marcel was genuine, "these generations are losing that."

"Well," Berwick sat back, scratching his grizzled cheek, "Ol' Sweetheart and Titan usually go to a little place on the other side of town, but that's on Sundays."

Sundays?

Hm.

"Otherwise, they're at the park, doing offhanded business there, and other things," Berwick waggled his eyebrows.

Bertolt just stared.

"Other things?"

"Heh," Marcel started to snicker.

Bertolt. Oh, Bertolt. He looked as if someone kicked a puppy right in front of his sad eyes.

"Oh! Lover boy now," Berwick chimed, sighing and patting Bertolt's shoulder, "you shouldn't even bother. Ol' Sweetheart treats us like dogs."

"S—sweetheart? Her name is Annie…d-don't call her that." Bertolt was trying to keep a grasp on the image of the investigator he had, but it was slipping.

Hell.

My immediate respect for her was gone, too, realizing she was sleeping with the enemy. Even if it was for the good of the investigation.

Sexual interaction—that was a thing for love.

How could Mr. Springer even condone this work?

What if he didn't know?

"Hahahahaha!" Marcel was howling with laughter.

"Oh, she hates the name," Berwick snickered, "but we can't help it—Ol' Sweetheart. Just like her last name, Leonhardt!"

Bertolt was red in the face and stiff as a board.

I gave a small, firm smile to Bertolt, telling him that it would be alright—I will find the two and make sure if anything scandalous was about to happen I'd stop it.

"I have to go out. Miss Historia gave some errands." I dusted off my dress shirt—we were issued high class threads for being associated with them.

Like materialistic incentives were going to make me blind to the crime they produced.

I took my coat off the rack and only gave one glance behind me, seeing Bertolt watching, defeated as I left.

"I will see you later, Bertl-boy." I waved at him, briskly walking off.

.

.

.

Just as those two men said—they were at Tompkin's.

It surprised me they knew so much of Miss Leonhardt and the Titan's whereabouts.

Was it that obvious their affair was going on?

If so, why didn't they tell Miss Historia?

It was puzzling but it made almost perfect sense not to tell her.

There'd be absolutely nothing to gain from revealing the affair. Well, except death. The Titan would no doubtingly brutally torture and execute them if they ever told about her dirty laundry.

Yet, they joked so openly, but they were out of it, too—cocaine and booze did that.

They better be careful, though. Their drunken tongues could get them killed.

I stood at the northern point of the park, cracking my knuckles nervously, staring at the sleek, beautiful automobile right by me.

On the side was painted the infamous golden logo—the dancing beast and his prisoner. I remember seeing the pictures of it in the portfolio.

It was definitely the Titan's.

I cleared my throat, gathering the courage to press onward, remembering how Miss Historia was locked in the upstairs loft, caged and unable to free herself from the lecherous, unfaithful hands of this heathen.

Where could they be?

I kept to the path, hoping to find anyone or other men in suits but there was nobody.

The whole park was vacant except for myself.

It made my skin crawl—why was everyone gone? It was a perfectly fine Thursday afternoon.

Where were the mothers and their children?

The men taking their lunch breaks?

I heard somebody laugh.

I stopped, listening.

There was a murmur.

Carefully, I snuck off the path, finding the two at a bench, facing away from me.

Ymir was on one side of the bench and Annie was on the other—in between them was a box of donuts and what appeared to be—a can of herring?

"—so Historia ran you off?" Annie spoke.

It was so soft and gentle and without the bluntness of before.

Even Ymir seemed a lot more at ease.

"Yeah. I wasn't going to keep fighting her—I swear to God." She growled as Annie grabbed the can of herring, opening it by the tab, and picking a piece out and throwing it to the ground.

From a bush a cat came out, watching very closely as it approached and nibbled on the treat.

"It's good to get away sometimes." Annie replied.

"A lot less pressure," Ymir agreed, wistful.

"Speaking of pressure," Annie decided to set the whole can down for the feline as it happily meowed for her.

"Has Historia figured out anything?" Annie questioned, turning so slightly to look at Ymir.

The Titan shook her head.

"Nah—she's chasing her own tail all day. I doubt she could ever see beyond herself—she's so goddamn self-centered."

Annie didn't reply as she picked up a small donut for herself.

It was quiet all over again and I was afraid to move, so afraid they'd notice me and know that I heard them talking.

"But," Ymir drawled, catching me off guard.

Was that…?

Annie stopped eating and turned all the way to Ymir, observing her.

"What is it?"

Ymir pulled her fedora off, scratching the back of her head and looking away.

"I've been thinking of what we said," she muttered and Annie was still.

Ymir was practically wiggling in shyness.

A mafia lord—shy?

What the hell—

"Is it about us?"

Oh.

Shit.

I backed up slowly, knowing I shouldn't be here to listen, but I had nowhere to go.

"Yeah, hah, yeah, it is." Ymir finally turned to face Annie.

"I thought about it…and I'm fine with us. I really am… I was scared of Historia—but, yeah, hah, I'm okay now."

Annie glanced away.

"That's good." Her voice was strange.

Again, the Titan barked a laugh.

"Look at us—think we're school kids on the playground, confessin'?" She played it off, rolling her shoulders.

"One would think," Annie replied and she—chuckled?

I was stuck where I was.

What should I do—

"There you two are," I jumped, ready to race away as I felt a small hand on my back.

Their heads whipped around to see me and Historia standing there.

"Hi—Babydoll," Ymir shot up, nervously smiling.

"What're you—"

"Oh, I thought I'd find you two here—I was tired of being in the loft so I had Reiner escort me here. He sure is a wonderful guy—did you know he saved a barn from being on fire?" She smiled, walking up with me.

What—barn on fire? I never once even said that.

Poor Historia… to see someone you care for—

"Did he?" Annie glanced at me, eyebrow raised.

"Absolutely… He's very fetching! Shouldn't we introduce him to the girls tonight, Ymir? I think they'd have a day with him!"

Oh.

Oh no.

Ymir was glaring holes into where Historia was touching me. I shifted away and she was now absolutely fuming at me.

"Did he?" Ymir echoed.

Historia faltered.

"Ymir…please, don't be that way—we just got done fighting, please… come back to the parlor? Have some tea and let's talk… I don't want to fight." Historia was near tears again.

Annie sighed, bowing her head.

"I will bring Reiner back. You two should talk."

"A-Annie!" Ymir called out, uncertain.

Annie ignored her as she went and ushered me away, trying to listen to what they were saying.

"Why should I go back with you, Historia? I don't want to be there!"

"Why, Ymir!? You'd rather be with Annie!?"

"No! That is not it—you know what—Augh! We've fought over this all the fucking time! I'm tired of it!"

And it was quiet.

I tried to look back but Annie held me fast by the wrist, pulling with extraordinary strength.

"Annie! Slow down!" I hissed but she stopped instead, turning towards me. Her eyes were sharp with intent.

"How much did you hear, farmboy?"

"I—I just came because Historia asked me to!" I left out the part that we did not arrive together.

"How much did you hear?"

"I—I was there when you first opened the can!"

Annie's eyes narrowed, watching my every movement.

Something was off—she was acting like she would shoot me right here and there.  
I grabbed her arm, gripping it, ready to defend myself if I had to, but she relinquished her hold on me.

"That's good." She said, sighing.

What?

"That's good," she flicked her bangs to the side, thinking, "now you understand why I work so closely."

My eyes widened.

"No." She silenced me.

"Let's go somewhere else to speak of this."

And so we did.

.

.

.

We stopped at a bakery as Annie ordered donuts and some coffee.

I sat across the booth from her, wondering what she had to explain. When she sat down she gave me my coffee and held the cream up, staring at me.

"No thanks."

She put it down and then put two lumps of sugar in her coffee—still a young girl at heart. In fact, I never realized how young she was until now as she unbuttoned her overcoat, revealing a summer dress underneath it all.

No wonder Bert grew to like her—she was the stars.

"I'm sorry I hadn't been forthright of all that I do," she hummed, stirring her drink before sipping it hot.

I drank mine—ouch!

"My case began similar to yours—go undercover and get what I could, but Ymir and Historia took a liking to me. Especially Ymir." Annie murmured, staring into the dark liquid.

"I rose in rank and I became too close—you can't bake a cake if you're in the fire yourself. I had to try and find a way out, but everything was too risky. I had to keep in line, but it wasn't without its benefits.

"I was able to get close enough where I got to see some of their drug routines and able to watch Ymir conduct business—we got a few good busts from it. Remember the warehouse scandal down Timberlane?"

Oh.

"Oh, no, really?" I was near excitement.

That was the biggest hit ever. I remember reading it in the newspaper before I was moved to this station with high recommendation from my father. Everyone knew I'd get in the force without problem—I was destined to take over as the chief eventually. Just like my father and them before…

"Yes. I was able to pull strings to get that to happen." Annie spoke but she did not boast.

"My position was perfect once I realized how to cope with the stress that came with it, but I never realized that Ymir took a high interest to me. Historia became a close friend."

A friend?

I stared at her and she wasn't touching her coffee still.

"Things got heavier as I realized my position was getting very unstable—I went back to file in a request for help. New blood hopefully would get this case to its final closing."

"What was your objective?" I asked because it didn't make sense.

Mr. Springer wouldn't be so lazy to just send her in to do busts.

"It's the same as yours," she nodded, watching the woman serve us our donuts, "to retrieve Historia Reiss."

"And now it's near impossible—I did everything but that."

It made sense.

Annie was stuck in a very good position but her original mission made it near impossible.

Or did it really?

"Why won't you take Historia out alone? Say it's for a friendly day out on the town?" I asked because I still wasn't really understanding it.

It made sense but it felt…not right.

"Oh, quite," Annie rolled her eyes, "let the Titan's mistress and wife go leave together for the day. That definitely would not ring alarms."

Oh.

Right.

"She's afraid…you two will both leave her?"

"I would assume."

What a greedy bastard.

"Perhaps earlier in my investigation, I could have, yes." Her brows furrowed as she took a donut, nibbling on it.

Her shoulders were slumped.

She was leaning back further in her seat.

"Oh," I realized what was going on here.

"You got greedy…?"

Annie closed her eyes.

"More or less."

"So, you prolonged your investigation to cover more than just the return of Historia Reiss—you want Ymir and her associate to be brought to justice?"

Annie stared up at me. I could see she was hiding her own humiliation.

"Yes."

I didn't judge her, though—it took a lot of character to admit faults.

"But you got in over your head…and now you need outsider help…"

"Yes."

I frowned, crossing my arms.

"I never took you as the greedy type…"

"I'm not." She defended quickly, glaring at me.

"So why endanger yourself?" I probed because the more I knew about Annie's motives the easier I'd know how to maneuver in our investigation.

"You'd laugh at me."

"What? I won't laugh."

"…you promise?" She licked her lips.

I stared at her until she continued.

"My father… he lives three hours away from here, alone and in the woods. He needs surgery…"

"And if you got all this done…you thought you'd be able to afford it all?"

She merely nodded.

"This investigation alone is hefty—aren't you getting paid enough?" I reasoned but she shot the most iciest of looks.

"What a thing to say," she muttered, "a man to a woman in a man's world."

It was true that women were paid less but it shouldn't have been that much to where she couldn't afford a surgery!

"Point taken," I laughed.

"I thought you said you wouldn't laugh?" She was digging her heels in.

I continued but stopped shy of her resorting to hit me.

"I was just thinking you're a good girl, Annie."

Her eyes went wide as she genuinely blushed.

"What?"

"I said you're a good girl! It takes a lot of nerve and wit to get in this field—especially as a woman!—just for your ol' dad? No wonder Bertolt is in love."

Annie's face didn't recover as she listened.

She only cleared her throat, staring at the honey glazed donuts.

"Wh—well…Bertolt…has a thing for me?"

I nodded, chuckling.

"Sure does. He's a good man, too."

Annie didn't respond as she quickly downed her coffee, red-faced.

"I…he's a good man…"

"Yes'sir, just like I said."

"…I…" She stopped.

She looked down, upset.

"I…I don't want to tell him that I've—I've…you know…"

I understood.

Her sense of duty was beyond her own comfort. Putting responsibility over oneself was a rare thing to find.

She was a damn good woman. Bertolt sure knew how to find one.

"Don't worry. I won't tell him as long as you promise to be nicer and possibly invite him out sometime, hm?"

"Invite..? Oh…Oh, I see," She wryly smiled, propping her elbows on the table and holding her face in her hands.

"Blackmail, is it?" She asked but it was a dry sense of humor.

"Never. I'm only suggesting." I winked.

She shook her head.

"Alright, farmboy who saved a barn."

"H-Hey!"


	5. Foreigners & Foreign Opinions

"Hey, Reiner," Bertolt spoke up in the dark. We were in our 'apartment' and we could hear all themes of a poverty's night—drunks, yelling, wailing, and noisy sex above us.

"Hm?" I wondered what he was going to ask. Maybe he wanted to head back to our respective houses.

"What's…what's most important to you?" Bertolt asked because he was like that. Always afraid that things would change.

"The same thing as ever," I huffed, closing my eyes and trying to sleep. Tomorrow was no doubtingly going to be long—I had a lead that Historia would want to get out of the relationship with Ymir now that she was caught cheating.

I only had to convince her.

"My family is most important to me. You and your family is important, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He was thinking.

"Hey, Bert."

"Hm?"

"I'm so proud of you."

"H-huh?"

"You've been clean for a whole year… I know it's hard… but I'm proud of you knowing what's right."

He was quiet.

"I love you, Reiner."

His bed squeaked as he rolled over, sneezing once.

"I love you, too, Bert."

.

.

.

We woke up without a word and left to do our business, over-going any information we shared last night.

"And so Annie is playing mistress to help us get closer to Historia and save her." I told him and he nodded, eyes distant.

"Don't worry, bud! I asked her and she said she wasn't sleeping with her! She's a classy woman!" I smiled and that brought him out of his trance.

He smiled so little and nodded.

"Th-That's good."

"Don't worry! Jeez, you always worry," I laughed, wrapping my arm around his shoulder and patting him.

"Careful!" He cried when I nearly caused him to drop his hot cup of coffee.

"Oh, just have a better hold on it!"

"Hah," Bertolt nudged me with his elbow as we came into the establishment. The other guards were even starting to give us smiles—crooked but they were trying at least!

We waltzed in, sipping from our cups, newspaper in hand, and ready to at least relax a bit. Or, pretend to slack off a bit.

Constant hard work would get too much notice from my already increasing popularity.

We sat at one of the booths, unwrapping our newspapers and sighing, drinking every now and then.

On one of the pages was Captain Connie Springer with his wife, Sasha, holding cider bottles in celebration of cracking down on the most drug dealings in a month.

I smiled.

Slowly but surely we will be bringing in the biggest yet.

I licked my fingers, flipping another page, but a door opened from the back. Bert and I glanced over and saw Annie coming out, looking tired and disheveled.

Oh.

Oh no.

"U-Um, good morning!" Bertolt stood up, bonking his knees on the table and sending coffee straight to my lap.

"Agh!" I winced, quickly grabbing napkins and dabbing my thighs.

"O-oh-oh! Oh no! Reiner! Here—Lemme—" he tried to reach over but just sent the whole table crashing to my side along with even more coffee on me.

"AUGH! BERT!" I roared, feeling the coffee burn on my skin.

"Oh. Oh. I'm so sorry, Reiner!" Bert wailed, trying to fix it but I swatted his hands away.

"No. Just no." I seethed, realizing I was absolutely drenched. I felt the soggy clothes stick to my now sensitive skin.

"Goddammit."

A giggle erupted.

I shot a glare at Annie as Bertolt's whole face went red, listening.

Annie cleared her throat, humored enough.

"Well, farm boys, I was going to ask for the both of you to accompany me," she tied her jacket's sash on her body, staring outside.

"It's a sunny day—" I stopped because I heard the sound of rolling thunder as the downpour came without mercy.

"Indeed," Annie teased, "but, I'm assuming you're too preoccupied, farmboy number one. How about number two and I go run my errands instead?"

She was staring at Bert.

Oh! This was his chance!

I slapped his rear, forcing him to scoot along.

"Go! Go, or else I will beat you, Bert-boy, for ruining my day," I smiled in jest and he quickly nodded, racing over, tripping over himself almost and then standing right by her side.

"Y-Yes, Miss Leonhardt! A-Anything you need!"

"Annie is fine." She adjusted her hat, waiting as Bert clumsily suited himself up for the stormy weather. Once done, they left with only one umbrella.

I watched until they left before smiling, shaking my head and standing up to get a change of clothes.

I knew there were extras somewhere in the joint. I'd just have to look—ah, perfect opportunity to snoop a bit.

I went to the closet and grabbed my mop and bucket, going into the backroom and up the stairwell to the floors above.

I only ever got to get on the second floor.

It seemed to be the place where Ymir and Historia roamed, given most of their pictures and such were in the main parlor.

I put my bucket down with my mop.

This would be my checkpoint to return to just in case I got accused further.

I wandered off, knocking on doors, and opening them and searching.

There was a room with a fireplace and two sofas facing each other, separated only by a low table. Negotiation room.

I knocked on the door of the parlor—no response.

Strange.

I opened it and it was just as the same.

I glanced around, finding it the same as ever with the smell of honey and tea. I went to the sofa where Historia sat last time and I put my hand there—warm.

So, they were here just a moment ago.  
Or would it have been Ymir?

Annie had messy hair…

Did she just get back from a romp with the Titan?

I grimaced and left the room after searching about and finding nothing in regards of clothing or evidence.

I went down the hall some until the smell of cigarettes and perfume was stronger.

I knocked.

Nothing.

Where was Historia and Ymir?

Did they leave early morning?

Hm.

I opened it and felt myself regret my decision.

It was bedroom that had dark burgundy walls with darkwood paneling. There was silk draperies everywhere with purple and in the middle was a heart shaped bed, recently tousled, and—

"God," I cringed.

I was about to shut the door close until I saw something glint in the dim lighting.

I went over, frowning, and felt my heart drop to see that it was Annie's cigarette case.

I picked it up, staring at it and then clicking the button, watching it snap open and—Oh.

One of her cigarettes had lipstick on it.

Funny.

Annie never wore lipstick in public. She must've dolled herself up for the Titan.

Damn bastard.

"Oh?"  
I felt the hair on the back of my neck prick. I glanced over to see Ymir in the doorway, caging me in, an unlit cigarette on her lips.

"M-Miss Ym—"

"Ymir is fine," she grimaced, taking the cigarette out from between her lips, and throwing it down somewhere in the hallway, "now, I don't recall ordering room service, huh?"

I inwardly bit my tongue as I fully turned around for her after putting the case back down on the nightstand.

"I—I—"

"Oi, did you piss yourself?" Ymir laughed, nodding at my wet suit.

"Lemme guess, spilled coffee?" She snorted, walking past me and I felt like she was going to shoot me. My whole body was rigid as she opened the curtains in the room and opening the window.

"Uh, yes," I frowned, pretty intrigued she knew so easily. In fact, she was only in a dress shirt and slacks. She didn't wear her fedora or gun at her hip.

She seemed…relaxed.

"Well, I take it you were looking for a fresh pair of clothes, hm?" She tapped the windowsill and looked up at me. I felt like she was trying to catch me off guard.

"Relax, King Kong," she snickered.

King Kong?

Oh, Annie, that little sly fox, she has been using that as my nickname, hadn't she?

"Let's get you something new. I reckon that ain't too comfortable," Ymir hummed, leading me out.

"Ah," she stopped, glancing at me over her shoulder—golden eyes completely innocent.

"I would also say to leave Annie's belongings, hm? Stealing isn't tolerated."

I froze up and felt my cheeks burn like I got caught in the cookie jar. I took the tin out of my pocket and put it on the end table, ready for her to beat me.

"Don't worry," Ymir shrugged, "don't do it again."

Wait.

Why wasn't she down my throat?

"I understand life is tough and things happen, but we'll take care of you, kid." She nodded and we were walking down the hall someway until we reached an elevator.

"Get in. Everything for storage is in the basement."

I reluctantly got in with her and the divider closed and we began our descent.

"Hey—say, farmer boy—do you believe in good in the world?"

I licked my lips.

"I do."

"That's good… what's the definition of good to you?"

"Everyone is taken care of. No crimes." I vaguely responded.

She snorted.

"No crimes. You know you're in a shady business?"

I nodded, slow.

"I do but… but the law can be corrupt." I lied and her eyebrows shot up.

"Is that so? More corrupt than the mafia?"

"It could be."

Ymir clicked her tongue, amused.

"So you're saying… the ends justify the means?"

God.

She was just burrowing under my skin, but this sort of talk was harmless…

Her eyes were just penetrating my whole soul as I adjusted my tie.

"If it means everyone is happy then…yes. I would say so."

"And for those who made it happen—the people who fought for justice—what do you think they should get in this world? Are they any better?" Ymir hummed, tapping her foot impatiently.

The elevator dinged and opened before us.

It was loud down here with the kitchen roaring and maids racing everywhere.

I didn't realize how many people this building held. Let alone gave work.

There was flourishes of so many languages being screamed. It made me uncomfortable.

"I think… they deserve to be rewarded in this world."

Ymir stepped out, sighing.

"So, you are saying, the world owes them gratitude if they do something amazing or lawfully good?"

She wasn't making sense with this deep talk.

Why talk to me at all about this?

Ymir's hand went to her collar, adjusting it, and I saw marks all over her neck. They were purple, red, and even black.

Good God.

"Yes…"

Ymir…she giggled…

"You are pretty self-righteous, aren't you?" She led me to the laundry room and the maids all brightened upon Ymir's entry.

"Mia ragazza!" An very elderly woman cried out, throwing her hands up and going over to hold Ymir's cheeks and kiss them.

Ymir whispered foreign words to her and the other maids were smiling away as the Titan gestured.

She was…welcomed?

I thought that anyone near her would cower but she was…kind.

The maids went to her, blushing and smiling, but thankfully Ymir must've saw my discomfort and began to talk in English.

"You all do very wonderful work. We appreciate it," she mentioned, patting a girl's back and the rest laughed away, giggling as if she was a…well, a handsome man.

"We…work very hard and good," one of the women said in heavily accented English.

"I know," Ymir nodded, "I hope that we can keep having you guys. Nobody cleans our clothes as good."

One translated and they were giggling all over.

The old woman came back over, slow and wobbly but smiling with shaking hands, giving Ymir a new suit.

"Thank you very much," I gave my best grin and the girls nodded.

Completely uninterested as Ymir gave them all a wink and they went back to work, blushing.

What.

What did I do wrong?

I was—

"If you strike out once, you still got two more swings, farmboy," Ymir teased, throwing me the suit and snickering.

"Grandma said to take your suit off in here and just hand it to her."

"In here?! With these women?!"

Ymir pivoted on her heel, crossing her arms.

"Trust me, King Kong, they won't look."

I didn't know whether to be extremely offended or to be relieved.

However, Ymir left the room to give me privacy as I quickly changed and handed the dirty clothes to the old woman.

She didn't even look up from scrubbing as she took it.

I hesitantly left.

This was the first time ever that I wasn't the preferred companion where women were involved.

Even Annie seemed to like me more compared to Bert…

"Feeling refreshed?" Ymir asked and I nodded.

"Good, now, let's go." She waved and I followed her all the way back to the elevator.

The women were sticking to my mind, though.

"Do you guys…always hire people from the docks?" I asked because I didn't know what to think.

How could they trust them if they never knew them or had a standing in New York yet?

It was like giving someone the keys to your house after picking them off the street.

"We do." Ymir nodded.

"…doesn't that…isn't that scary?" I recalled all the slums I've been to and their foreign signs and strange tongues and how they dressed differently. It was like you were an alien in your home—it felt…filthy.

"Not really." Ymir shrugged.

"People need jobs. People have families."

"But wouldn't it be easier to hire someone…you know?" I tried to phrase because it felt wrong still.

Jesus Christ Reiner, I wanted to slap myself, why're you trying to give tips to the enemy?

"Not really," Ymir gave me an icy look despite her normal tone as we got back in the elevator.

"Think of it this way, King Kong… every person has a child. They love seeing their child laugh and play. They sleep next to their loved ones and hope they return every day. There are grandparents who fish or knit and try their best to help their family from dragging because of them, yes?"

I didn't quite think of it that way.

"Well, of course—family is important."

"It is…and we all share that love regardless of whether we came from the docks or been here longer." She pushed the button and we were going back up.

I had to do a double-take at Ymir to make sure she was Ymir, the infamous Dancing Titan, destroyer of law and merciless killer.

"You're…" I tried to find the word but I didn't know what I could say.

"I know. I'm surprisingly decent," she snorted, arms crossed, foot tapping away again until we got to our stop.

"Now, get to mopping. And if you try to steal, remember to fill your bucket with water and soap before coming up? More plausible," she rolled her eyes and I gaped.

"Y-Yes, s—ma'am."

She grinned at my fumbling on trying to find the right title for her.

"Also, Reiner," I stopped, wondering what she had to say, "about what is right and such… don't ever lose that, yeah?"

Huh?

I gave her a strange look, puzzled at why she'd say that—of all the people I didn't expect her to hear that.

And then I saw it.

Guilt.

"Sometimes, you think you have goodness and then you end up somewhere not so great and wonder how you got here…and wish to change." Ymir was leaning against the wall of the elevator.

I didn't know what to say that.

Did she regret her decision as the mafia lord?

I didn't ever think she'd be sorry for what she did…but here she was, looking glum…

Ymir was a person.

A real person… who craved to be good…

"Maybe one day the end will justify the means, huh, sport?" She nodded at me, smiling.

It was a genuine, sweet smile. It brought out her softer features and I suddenly realized she was a woman indeed.

I smiled back, looking at the ground.

"I won't try to steal anymore… just wanted to send something to my ma."

"What a good boy…" She cleared her throat, looking away.

"Well, uh, sport, gotta go to the miss." She pointed upward and then hit the button.

"Maybe we can get drinks sometime." She didn't look at me anymore once the doors closed and she left me on the floor, reevaluating what I knew.

After this conversation… It was hard to believe she was…

Hah. Yeah right. She was probably fucking with my head.

I watched the floorboards as I walked back to my mop and bucket.

She's a dirty rotten scoundrel. Cheating on her wif—I mean, her slave with a mistress. She was terrible. The worst.

I kept repeating it in my head. I just had to.

Or else.

"Reiner," I heard that heavenly voice.

I looked over to the door of the parlor and saw Historia there, glancing around suspiciously.

"Yes, Miss Reiss?"

"C'mere," she whispered, impatiently ushering me over.

"Uh, yes?" I jogged over and bent down a bit so she didn't have to talk so loud.

Her eyes—oh. They were so full of determination and…pain?

Huh?

"I—I" she was struggling with her words, scared.

But I was patient. I was kind.

It was easy to swallow my uncertainty about Ymir upon seeing Historia so distraught.

The Dancing Titan was cunning and manipulative after all. She was just fucking with me…because who could hurt such a beauty and goddess like Historia?

"It's okay, Miss Reiss. Take your time." I nodded and this seemed to help her greatly as she squared her shoulders, breathing deeply.

"R-Reiner," oh she said my name so lovely, "I—I want to run away! Please, help me!"

Oh.

My eyes widened.

My mouth dried.

This is…

This is exactly…what we needed to hear…

"Okay."


	6. Free-Fall

"What!?" Annie's cup of coffee went sailing to the ground.

"She—so soon!?" She was caught off guard just as much as Bertolt was, gaping at me.

"Yes, she said she wants to run away."

"But we did—Okay." Annie sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"I'm stepping out… for it to unfold so neatly…" Annie went to the window, sliding it open, and slipping through it onto the fire escape, fishing out her cigarette case and lighting one.

It must've been a shock to her for her years of hard work to be near its end. I was happy to help, though. I always had a knack for getting things done faster than most. It was in my blood to be excellent in this area of work.

"So…when does she want to run away…?"

"Tomorrow night…"

"What?!" Annie sounded almost pissed.

"What? Is that a bad time?" I snorted, suspicious as to why she was fighting against it so much.

"It's going to be Ymir and Historia's anniversary party tomorrow." Annie hissed, feeling highly uncertain. She chucked her cigarette after only a few puffs and jumped back into the room.

"Do you know how much this is going to piss Ymir off? And how unlikely this will happen? Ymir will be all over her tomorrow—to get her alone! Impossible!"

I frowned, holding my chin, thinking.

She was right that it'd be highly impossible to leave without arousing great suspicion. Let alone getting her away from Ymir.

"Wh—What if… we tell Mr. Springer?" Bertolt suggested, sitting back down, hands shaking, and poring over the newsletters and documents and pictures we had scattered on the table for investigation.

"Hm," I humored the idea.

If Mr. Springer knew of the fleeting chance, he might act swiftly with the men. I could whisk Miss Reiss away and Bertolt could lead the charge in with Mr. Springer and clean the house.

"That's a possibility." I nodded.

"Yeah, actually, a very good idea," it would allow us to take the element of surprise and… well, I'd be able to talk with Miss Reiss and maybe bring her out to dinner while we wait for things to die down.

Maybe she'd view me in a different light after I saved her life.

"Should we do it—"

"Go ahead," Annie sighed, flicking her bangs out of the way.

"However, remember, Reiner—Bertolt and I have opening night shift. We're leaving. When we return, your shift begins." She seemed to glare at me and I didn't know what to make of it.

Even Bertolt was staring at me intently.

"So…Bertolt and I don't work together anymore…?" I wandered.

"No. You won't. Ymir was telling Historia she didn't trust you two together. You've been suspicious lately." She nodded at Bertolt and the guy shot up, following her like a lost puppy.

"I guess we're lucky that this is ending soon or you'd blow it for us all."

"What!? I haven't done—"

"Yes. Yes you have. You've been hounding Historia too much. The walls have ears and eyes, Braun… Remember that," she stared at Bertolt for a long time.

"Are you ready to go? Ymir might talk to you tonight."

"Wh-What? I—" Bertolt shot me a scared look.

"It's alright, bud. Annie will watch out for you."

But that didn't keep Bertolt from looking pained.

"Alright." Bertolt whispered, shaking, and even walking over to pat my back.

"If—If I don't return…c-can you make su—"

"Oh! I doubt you will die!" I laughed, making his flinch as I slapped his back hard.

Annie just analyzed us from the threshold of our apartment.

"R-Reiner, I'm not joking—"

"And neither am I! Annie got your back. Plus, you're too good of a person to get killed like that." I reasoned and he was quiet before smiling small as if nothing mattered.

"Yeah…I suppose so…maybe, maybe I can reason with her…"

"That's the spirit!"

"Maybe she'll—"

"Let's go, Bert." Annie left.

His face went red.

My eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise.

"Bert? Oh, Bert, when did she start calling you that?"

"N—Nothing! I am going!" Bertolt shot out and away, slamming the door behind him.

I snorted, shaking my head.

Those two were probably falling head over heels for each other.

"Back to work," I muttered, flopping down into the chair and staring down at all our documents.

Bertolt had been doing most of the work here as I sipped my cup of Joe and peered over what he had organized.

We had the newspaper clipping of the heiress Historia Reiss being caught with alcohol and drugs. Her father did an interview, lamenting of how Historia has been restless and hanging with the wrong crowd.

I took the paper bag near the clipping, finding the evidence within—a luxurious leather pouch with golden engravings.

I loosened the drawstring and peered inside to find all sorts of interesting things—smaller dabs of cocaine.

It smelled deeply of cigars. Fancy kind from the whiffs.

However, none were found within.

Hm.

Perhaps the people she hung with smoked fancy things?

Upper-crust always were too comfortable in their seats, tempted to fiddle with unlawful acts due to boredom.

I put the bag away and glanced back to the newspapers.

The next clipping was of a direct interview with Historia Reiss from the women's confinement a few weeks after.

A lot of it was asking how she felt, why she'd do that to her father, but no matter what question was asked she kept crying and saying she didn't do it.

Guilt? Perhaps.

Maybe not.

A picture was shown of Historia Reiss standing in the yard with what appeared to be a blurry Ymir.

A follow-up interview from another news company.

Questions about why she was refusing her crime though convicted.

However, this time, they did not receive any response due to the fact another inmate interrupted and alerted the guards of suspicious activity.

The interview was concluded and left unfinished in the report to the police station.

I could easily figure the inmate who stopped it was Ymir.

Now, another clipping.

Historia Reiss has been bailed from her father. Reports of happiness and hopefulness and everyone hoping for swift recovery of their relationship.

And only one paper speculated that Miss Reiss was accompanied by another inmate out.

Ymir.

A few weeks later and Historia Reiss is now on the cover of the paper, reported missing.

Crime rates skyrocket.

Reiss Company is having a bit of a tumble.

The old Police Chief retires after son is found dead with the Dancing Titan branded on his chest.

Connie Springer is elected the new Police Chief.

A picture of the wedding of Mr. Springer and Mrs. Springer follows the next month.

I smile.

That funny little punk. He meets the woman at the park after their dog's leashes got tangled up together and they get married so quickly.

More retiring of Police Chiefs due to black mail.

New Chiefs elected.

And then the news stops cold.

People too afraid to report a thing since the Dancing Beast got her fangs in New York.

I kept digging through old newspaper, trying to pick up where Bertolt left off, because while the wedding was beautiful there was really nothing there to put it with the rest.

Bertolt, that lover, he was probably daydreaming of wedding Miss Annie.

I went to organizing is chaotic clutter, throwing away any spare trash and—

"Hm?"

There were some newspaper clippings shoved over there.

I fished them out, glancing at what was to be said.

Some of them were unofficial reports that our station raked from the news companies around the bay.

I read some, licking my lips, and wishing I had my pipe with me.

There were a few copies of pictures—some more weddings of this and that.

There was also a picture of Rod Reiss, sitting down at a table with other important figureheads, sharing cigars.

Wait.

Cigars?

I scoured over the picture until I found the outline of what looked like a fancy satchel.

I pulled out the evidence and compared the two, finding them way too similar.

I sat back, blinking.

So…if this bag was Rod Reiss's then…

I picked up the first newspaper clipping of Historia Reiss being jailed.

There was one before the Grand Ball they were attending.

She did not have the bag. Instead, it was around Rod's waist.

So…he had the drugs…and framed his own daughter?

But how were they caught exactly?

I went over the investigative file, skimming until I found what I was looking for.

Rod Reiss…had found his daughter with the illegal items and reported her in…?

Rod framed her…and then did her in himself.

I held my hand over my mouth, biting a finger for thought.

Why would he do that?

There was no bias to do it…

Not that I knew of.

I glanced at the following pictures, seeing Ymir and Historia close.

So…Historia disappeared after she was released…

She was Ymir's moll.

Annie even said that Ymir loved her and she did love Ymir…at one point anyways…

Then Rod Reiss wanted Historia back?

I squinted under the harsh light of the overhead lamp.

So…Historia had ran away.

She wasn't kidnapped.

She didn't want to go back to her father because he did something horrible to her.

And Ymir was her only escape.

"Jesus." Everything was falling into place now.

The reason Historia Reiss ended up this way was not because she was being pushed around, but that she was tired of being pushed around.

She left her father for reasons unknown except that he purposely framed her.

She found solace in Ymir and somehow got dragged by her hair through all the shit Ymir did.

Now, she was stuck deep in either worlds, unable to get out.

Now…

She was begging for me to help her.

"God. Poor girl." I gawked.

I was her last hope for escape from her father and the cheating, deadly woman.

What's going to happy now, Reiner?

If we saved Historia Reiss and kept her under custody until her father arrived then she'd be back in hell.

I…

What was I going to do?

I couldn't possibly—

…Would I have to help her run away?

My eyes went downcast to Mr. Springer's wedding photo.

Would Mr. Springer understand if I told him we had to hide her from the two people?

I just couldn't believe it or piece it together.

Poor Historia…the beautiful angel…

My eyes were wandering the picture and then I froze.

"What the fuck," I shot forward, gaping at it.

Far in the background, practically invisible, was Ymir, sitting in a far off chair, toasting to Mr. Springer and Mrs. Springer's marriage.

She was smiling and waving as if mocking me for not noticing before, practically chiming, 'look at me, you dog! I'm here!'

"Fuck!" I slapped my hands down.

Why was she at their marriage?

Did Mr. Springer not know?

Or…

Oh God.

What if…

What if…

Bertolt, you fucking genius!

It made sense why he put so many weddings together—in each one, Ymir was somewhere in the background.

Fuck!

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" I threw my mug on the ground as a fear crept up my spine.

In each celebration party, Ymir was in the background of each Police Chief.

"No, no, no," I scrambled, throwing papers everywhere and then—no.

Please.

No.

Connie Springer before he was married…

In the background, there she was again—smiling and toasting with her fedora.

She—

Oh God.

She was fucking blackmailing every Police Chief out of his office and somehow putting men of her trust in them.

Fuck.

She was rolling everyone!

And then the reports later on and everything else going cold?

It fucking made sense!

She was controlling everyone and hiding her dirty work!

"Fuck! Bertolt!" I shot up, snatching my coat and racing after him.

Why didn't he tell me!?

Oh fuck.

What if Annie didn't know?

No wonder her case was taking fucking forever—Mr. Springer was probably just laughing behind her back!

He was laughing beh—Shit.

That meant—fuck, fuck, "FUCK!"

That meant Ymir knew exactly who we were and what we were doing.

Why did Mr. Springer send us on this case if he was in it with Ymir?

Everything was crumbling.

It felt like the Beast's shadow was everywhere, corrupting everything, and nobody was safe.

I wasn't safe.

I ran like hell, trying to catch up to the two.

They had to have only been gone for like five minutes.

"Bertolt!"

Shit.

The probably took a car to get there—it was a thirty minute walk and they couldn't have gone that far.

I stopped under a streetlamp, panting, glancing around, and praying they'd appear.

What if—oh no.

Ymir was going to talk to him and Annie—fuck.

Fuck.

A car came rolling by and stopped.

My eyes widened.

The golden emblem of the Dancing Titan shined like hell's fire.

"Reiner, yes?" Her tongue clicked.

"Where you heading, sport? Need a ride?" Ymir smiled, tipping her fedora.


	7. Wayward Friend

"Out for a run," I lied and she only snorted.

"Lying isn't really your thing, is it?"

I prepared myself for her to shoot me.

There was no reason to play games anymore.

"Stop fucking around with me," I gritted and it seemed to catch her off guard.

"Hey, what's wrong?" She asked in this tone I despised. She was frowning and looking plain upset, but it was all a lie.

All a trick.

"Hey, Reiner, boy," Ymir nodded at me, "how about I give you a lift to the place, huh? I know Berty-boy and Annie will be there. Maybe they'll help clear your mind from whatever this is?"

All I could hear was lies.

She had taken Historia and caged her away until she could no longer run away. She manipulated everyone and now she thought she was clever to fool me?

"I don't want to leave you alone. Something ain't right and I feel you might be a bit irrational—do you need some water?" Ymir parked her car, getting out.

There was nobody with her.

I could—I could kill her now.

I felt my gun in its holster. It was getting heavier by the second as she neared me.

"You're shaking all over, Reiner," Ymir said, stopping by me, "tell me, what's wrong—are you feeling well?"

"Stop asking me if I feel well! I know you don't care!" I slapped her hand away but she didn't seem to be fazed.

There were memories racing through my head.

Of artwork I drew growing up that I showed my father. He didn't care a lick about it. All he said was that it's a good hobby but that I had to become a police officer.

Playing sports with Bert and his family would always be there, but not mine. Father had work and mother was always busy gardening or doing this and that.

Care.

I shook my head.

"Fuck you," I growled, readying my fists and she still didn't care.

"What're you going to do, Reiner?" She asked. It was devoid of threat and anger. It was concerned and quiet.

"Are you going to punch me…? I don't think whatever you're thinking is going to solve that." Ymir spoke and I felt my resolve break a bit.

Why was she—

"You're a liar! A fucking thief! Why would I ever work for you—you're—you're a fucking criminal!" I swung and she stepped out of it.

She didn't even answer as I finally hooked to the left, slamming my fist right against her shoulder.

She winced, grunting, but she did not fight back.

Why—she fucking killed people, Reiner—KILLED—and yet—and fucking yet…

"Why—why the fuck are you so—why do you pretend to care!?" I stepped and another blow hit and she winced again.

"Who said I did not?" She replied, bringing out her hands this time and catching every throw, deflecting them away from her throbbing shoulder.

"You—You fucking kill people! KILL PEOPLE! I KNOW WHAT YOU DID! I KNOW WHAT YOU DO!"

I blindly swung, staggering, hoping she'd just die, but she took hold of my wrist and all of a sudden all I saw was the blinding streetlamp glaring down at me.

"I do. And so do you." She muttered, realizing what was going on now.

"Police or mafia, we kill people. Either one is wrong, Braun," she muttered, walking towards me and blocking out the light.

In her hand—my hand whipped down and found that my gun was missing from its holster.

The fucking bitch.

"Going to do me in, then, huh, cop-killer?" I sneered.

I would at least die doing what's right.

"Hah. No." She threw the gun in the nearby alley.

"I don't plan on killing anyone the night before my anniversary." She adjusted her tie, glancing back at her stalling car.

"Now, if you still want to be a heathen, I will leave you here. If you want to talk it out, you will get in the car and we'll go our place to the VIP lounge for a drink with me." She looked back down.

"Why the fuck—why would you want to talk about 'it'?!"

It didn't make sense.

"And how do I know you won't just kill me!?"

"I don't work that way," she blinked slowly, "if I want to kill you, you would know. Plus, I had more than plenty opening just now, no?"

I got up, feeling my back ache, but she offered a hand.

I glared at it but she didn't withdraw.

"You should take someone's courtesy, no?" She asked, getting irritated.

I rolled my eyes, grabbing her hand as she helped lift me back onto my feet.

"Come now," Ymir hopped back into her vehicle and I did, too, glancing at the alleyway.

Either I was crazy or stupid or both to come unarmed.

"I think a drink will put you in better spirits," she hummed, turning the car radio up and humming with whatever it was on.  
.

.

.

Ymir went by the counter.

I kept standing, watching her as she grabbed glasses and alcohol.

"Relax," Ymir spoke, "I'm not going to poison you. I prefer to tell my enemies when and how I want to kill them. It's polite."

She smiled but I didn't budge.

"Stiff as a board and a wet towel at the same time," she clicked her tongue. I slowly made my way to the bar stool and sat there, remembering seeing my father sneak off sometimes to go to the speakeasy back home.

He said it was a law nobody cared for except the government. Even then the politicians went through it.

Ymir poured a generous amount of alcohol—whisky?

Whisky.

"Now, go ahead," she nodded, drinking her cup without a hint of grimacing, "tell me all that you hate me for."

She peered into her glass, smiling bitterly.

"It might do me some good, huh? Give me a guilty conscious hopefully."

I chugged my whisky and glared at her.

"You kill the original police chief's son at my station! What the fuc—"

"And you can't pretend that boy was any good," she shrugged.

I bit my tongue.

The boy wasn't known to be a good kid—got into all sorts of trouble and made his father cry once because he didn't know where he went wrong. The boy one day came late in the station, blood on his hands and cracked up on drugs.

The boy had killed a prostitute.

The station pulled together to keep it hush hush as the police chief drowned himself in whisky in his office, crying in front of his son.

After that, the boy died shortly after.

And the police chief retired.

"I will tell you this if it helps justify it—not that it ever will," Ymir lazily stirred the ice cubes, "it wasn't his first time killing someone. It was just the first time he didn't have friends to clean up his shit."

I stared at her.

"Whatever. He was just a boy!"

"And the people he killed were just boys and girls, too," Ymir cocked her head to the side, "they didn't have the luxury of living parents or let alone ones that were alive and cared and had jobs… the only difference we have here is that the boy killed them and got off scotch free every time."

I gritted my teeth.

"Why didn't you report it!?"

"Hah!" Ymir barked a laugh.

"Did you hear what you just said after admitting you guys covered up the whole incident for a friend? What a joke, Braun. Justice does not turn a blind eye to anyone." She took another swig.

"Vigilante justice isn't any better," I defended ourselves but she didn't even bat an eyelash at the retort.

"Okay. Give me another one," she nodded, leaning against the bar and staring at me, "give me another reason why you want to 'bring me to justice'."

"You steal everything and anything you can get your hands on! You cannot justify your greed!"

"Hoh?" Ymir put a hand over her heart.

"Hoh. What a claim." Ymir smirked.

"What!?" I was ready to wring her neck again.

"Stealing things that aren't yours says the white man to the Native American. How ironic." Ymir finished her drink, batting her eyelashes and removing her fedora.

"That does not justify you stealing from banks!"

"No, it doesn't. Stealing isn't the way my people will get back what was taken, but stealing from banks helps everyone."

"That's the most stupidest fucking thing I ever heard!" I shot up, bar stool falling behind me.

"Really? Have you seen the neighborhood around us? All of it is owned by us and has the least crime rate. Everyone who works for us gets to move here if they were in the slums—we're constructing more apartments even today for our employees." She gestured to the window but I didn't want to look.

"You guys are just fucking helping yourselves. What about the others who you stole from!?"

"Do you think the poor man owns a bank account?" She countered and, again, I was biting my tongue.

The fucking bitch kept finding loopholes that didn't make sense or didn't matter.

"We look out for those have the most injustice upon them…and we dish out these infractions to those who often get away with them…isn't that justice?"

"No! It's not! You are abusing other people for another's gain!"

"Hah! And isn't that how America works? First the indigenous people, second the blacks, and now you're abusing the immigrants who wish to find a better life for themselves? You have no right to say what I am abusing if you think class and monetary difference justifies suffering." Ymir slammed her palms against the surface of the bar.

"You are just crammed full of hypocritical beliefs, aren't you?" Ymir tapped her own head, viciously smiling and laughing.

"Why don't you get your head out of your own ass, Braun? You will believe just about anything said to you, wouldn't you? What else did your shitty father even—"

"Leave my father out of this!" I tried to slap her but she dodged it and snorted.

"Oh, don't tell me ol' pops hid things from you, hm?"

"Shut up!"

"Fine." Ymir crossed her arms.

"But you cannot look up to him as this pure gift of God. He's far from it, Braun… however," she lowered her arms.

She went back to the bar, leaning on it and staring at me as if she never offended me.

"You can change things, Braun. You are a man of justice…when we got you a new suit, you said so yourself that the ends justify the means, hm?"

"I was lying to save my cover before I realized you were just playing us all…where's Bertolt?"

"He's probably in the main lounge, flirting it up with Annie." She laughed.

"He's a sweet man, isn't he? It's too bad Annie just does not have a thing for men."

"What?"

Annie was…?

"She doesn't care for men particularly. She does seem to enjoy the company of women. Hm?" She winked, snickering.

"A-And, wait," I reloaded my questions and she sighed again, tired, "you're cheating on your wif—Historia—Miss Historia Reiss!"

"Oh? Has Annie been bragging to you about me and her?" She tried to joke but her face was all red.

"No! She informed me of your infidelity! Have you ever thought what Miss Historia is going through knowing this?" I pointed.

I was feeling a bit heavy, but I didn't want to give in.

Every thing… I didn't want to believe but Ymir…she—she was a good person.

She was…more about justice…than anyone I ever saw.

And I didn't want to believe it.

No criminal could ever be like this. It was things only of imagination and novels.

Ymir glanced at her drink, thoughtful.

She smiled a bit.

"I'm sure she's just thrilled about it." She shook her head.

"I never wanted to tell her about it…she'd get all sorts of worked up."

"You're disgusting," I shot because I found this reason to hate her.

"Oh? Well, if that's the one thing you need to justify your 'investigation' then sure…but it won't end happily for you."

She stood up, putting her cup away.

"Justice has its sacrifices but I will ensure Miss Historia Reiss is safe and that your underworld is brought to light and disbanded."

"Is that really what you have to say after all this? Look around you, Braun… when you come to our anniversary tomorrow, take time to look around and really think if this is justice is worse or better, hm?" Ymir took my glass away, placing it in the sink.

"You're invited to our anniversary party tomorrow. If you come, I will take it as a gesture that you wish to put back your old, diluted views of justice behind you and embrace the new world of justice. True justice." She went around the bar, holding out her hand in a shake.

"And if I don't?"

"If you don't, I will formally invite you to your own death." Her eyes were downcast, a frown on her face as if…she was saddened by the deal.

"That doesn't sound like justice."

"I'm only the dealer of it. Not the judge." She admitted but it felt like a shitty way to make herself not responsible.

"Do you understand?" She gestured her hand again.

I stood up, glaring, and took her hand, shaking it.

She smiled a bit.

"Please…do come to the party…don't worry about dressing up nicely. It's just a fun thing to do, yeah?" She withdrew her hand and I was already walking away, gritting my teeth.

"Hey, Braun?"

I didn't stop as I opened the door.

"I never wanted to kill you in the first place…you're a hardworking, good man... take the night off to get some good sleep…" She cracked her knuckles and I gave her one last glance.

She was staring down at the ground…shy.

Like a kid knocking on their friend's door to ask if they could come out and play.

"I was hoping…things could've turned out different…and they still can…"

Did she really not want to kill me?

"Ymir."

Her head shot up.

"Are you saying you wanted to be friends this whole time?"

I remembered Annie saying that the Dancing Titan wished for friends and that she was lonely.

Was that not a lie?

I didn't know if it was or a lucky shot in the dark. Everything was a lie these days.

"Wh-What? N—er, yes…I guess…" Ymir scratched the back of her neck, looking irritated.

Embarrassed, really.

But I guess…it would make sense if I tried to think of her position…

Trying to do what she thought was best…working hard…saving people…doing things that people thought were immoral when she saw it was the justice the world needed…

In fact…

"Hah." I chuckled and that didn't seem to ease her.

I guess if we were at the same station…on the same side… we would've been good friends.

I didn't give her the comfort of an answer as I left, shaking my head, and going down the hall and into the main lounge.

The music was alive, people were dancing, the smell of alcohol and tobacco was heavy, and guarding Historia Reiss in the VIP section was Annie Leonhardt.

She saw me and nodded.

Ol' Bert was probably getting her a drink or something.

I lifted my hand and went for the exit.

The streets were cold but it was a nice feeling after all the heat that came upon me.

I was torn between laughing my ass off to screaming to crying and then laughing some more.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and whistled, trying to shrug off this feeling of inevitable doom.

_Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,_

_Creeps in this petty pace from day to day_

_To the last syllable of recorded time;_

_And all our yesterdays have lighted fools_

_The way to dusty death._

Hm.

How did the rest go?

_Something, something…_

_It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you believe in justice?
> 
> Is justice symbolized through a badge or actions that're meant to better the world?
> 
> Which one is better?
> 
> In this world, there's a thing called equivalent exchange.
> 
> You must give and take.
> 
> So does that mean the ends justify the means is truer than an idealized justice system people strive for but continue to corrupt?
> 
> Justice.


	8. Leap of Faith

Bertolt didn't return home.

I sat on my bed, staring at his cot, wondering where he could've gone.

I would dare to say that he finally tamed what was Annie Leonhardt, but I knew now that she was only being polite and covering her vulnerability.

And I was hounding her about going on a date with him not so long ago…

I rubbed my face, standing up.

Ymir said she would tell me the truth.

Why was I willing to believe her? Maybe, I thought, because nothing made sense anymore, and I was willing to believe in anything.

There was a brief knock on the door as I stood up, straightening my work suit out.

Annie slipped inside and stared at me.

"So you're going?" She asked, frowning.

Who was Annie Leonhardt?

She could've been working for Connie and thus Ymir, or she could be as blind—no.

Hah.

She was more perceptive than me.

"How long did you know?" I asked, fidgeting with my cufflinks.

Again, her eyes stared long and hard at me.

"Does it matter what I knew?" She questioned and it only made my chest feel heavier as if someone kept putting weights on it.

"I take it either you found Bertolt's revelation or Ymir spoke to you." She murmured, glancing at the research table.

"You played us both." I didn't even have the spirit to snarl or fight back.

Just say.

Like a machine giving the results people expect.

"My line of work requires secrecy," she responded and she gave a sympathetic look.

"It is not personal."

"It never is," I responded, smiling a little.

"So…you and Ymir are a thing then…"

Annie's face turned red and she sighed.

"It's something but to call it a thing would be a leap." She crossed her arms, staring out the door.

"And you feel no guilt towards Miss Historia?" I asked with a sidelong glance.

Annie frowned, eyes narrowing a bit.

Her fingers tapped her arm.

"Guilt isn't something I associate with her. No."

I shook my head.

"Whose side are you on? You're just sort of there…and it just pisses me off." I nodded to the door and we went down the stairwell and out into the evening streets as the lamps flickered on.

"I'm on the side that makes most sense—the one I feel protects more people." She kept her eyes ahead of her as her boots clacked against the ground.

"Vague as usual."

"Again, secrecy," she muttered, bored of the conversation and lazy, open probing questions I gave.

I couldn't even bother to cover myself anymore.

The new insight ripped me open and spilled all my determination and what I thought was right.

"Where's Bert?" I asked because I was hoping she'd throw me a bone and tell me.

"You don't know where he is?" She finally looked at me.

And I realized what a terrible liar she was. She only stared and analyzed people to scare them from doing the same to her.

"No. But I do know you know where he is," I felt something crawl up my throat, lodging itself there.

Annie scoffed, laughing almost.

"I do. I will give you that," so she did feel bad for me, "he will be anniversary party. Ymir had to speak with him after his shift and he needed time to process it all."

"Are you lying to me?" I asked outright.

It was stupid to ask because it didn't matter.

I was in no position to fight against dishonesty. I was the weakest link in this game.

"Not at all." Annie even put her hand onto my arm.

She was sincere despite what her cold exterior showed.

"Don't worry, farmboy," she tried to tease. She was so terrible at this that I knew it was honest.

"He will be there… and Ymir will be happy to know you changed your mind and understand."

"And…what about Historia Reiss? We just leave her to suffer?" Thinking of her still caught in everything…it made me feel something deep that promised to spark my will to fight again.

She was innocent, caught up between both forces of greed and violence… the true innocent of it all.

"You must forget about it. They fight here and there but Ymir always comes back." She promised.

It didn't sit well with me but the rest of the walk made it easier to pretend.

We were a block away but already there were lines of cars to the block party. Even children were racing by to visit the vendors, excited with sticky fingers and missing teeth. People of all different classes came to enjoy the festivities.

I smiled.

Ymir was right in a way.

They might be going against the law but there was good in it…

Annie flashed her emblem at stationed guards and they gave a nod.

"Don't need that around here, Sweetheart," one laughed and I recognized them as the men before.

She glared at them and they giggled like schoolgirls as we passed, going straight to the building.

There were bands playing all over—one in the parking lot, the main plaza, smaller artists scattered about, and then the main band that I could hear jazzing it up inside.

It was like a holiday.

And for what… A tarnished, fake marriage…?

One that goes against God…

But was it really that bad if it had problems?

"There they are," we only took one step in and already Ymir was going through the parting crowd, grinning like she won the lottery.

She took my hand into hers and shook it furiously.

"I am so glad you made it!" She seemed relieved.

And happy.

Because of what—that I was a changed man?

It felt surreal…and stupid.

"Yeah," I worked up a grin and she didn't question it as Historia followed behind her.

My heart picked up and I felt that squeeze of life again.

She was in a beautiful white dress with long gloves on. She was the star of the show—the apple of my eye.

She took my hand from Ymir's, holding it so tenderly in her own.

"It's good to see you here, Braun." She smiled.

I want to run away! Help me escape!

"I'm glad to see you both." I glanced around.

I was promised Bertolt would be here.

Was he hiding in shame?

I could see him moping at some speakeasy already. That Bert better not be getting into the drugs again…

No.

He wouldn't.

I smiled more genuinely.

He was a good guy. My best friend. He knew better now.

"Come, have a drink!" Ymir toasted with hers and everyone in the party cheered.

Oh, she was drunk.

She grasped Annie's shoulder, pulling her close and holding her by the waist.

"You, too! Drink, drink, drink!" She laughed and Annie was fifty shades of red as she sighed, following along.

I glimpsed at Historia to find a strange look on her face—critical, narrow eyes and a lone eyebrow raised and—

"So, Reiner, would you like to get a few drinks with me as well?" She smiled.

I shook my head.

My mind was playing tricks on me.

"Sure thing."

I glanced at the clock.

It'd be awhile till six.

.

.

"Woo!" I hollered, laughing like a maniac as Historia hung around me, smiling and patting my shoulder.

I didn't even care where Ymir or Annie or Bert were!

I didn't feel a thing—fuck yeah. Fucking finally I get some slack!

Everything was great as fucking hell as I grabbed Historia close, laughing even more as she pulled me to the corner of the room.

"Reiner…get ahold of yourself," she patted me down from the suds on the side of my face.

And she lingered.

Her hand held my jaw and I stopped giggling and stared into her eyes.

They were so soft.

"When are we leaving?" She asked and dropped her hand to my chin—a lone finger stray to glide under my lip and then leaving altogether.

"Is it six?"

"It is." She peered up at the clock and I shrunk.

"Shit." I grabbed her hand, racing her out.

"Wh—Reiner?!" She gaped and then there were sirens everywhere.

"EVACUATE THE AREA!" I heard Mr. Springer's voice bellow.

Oh.

I had never felt happier as I saw the NYPD race forward with guns at ready, surging forward and police cars blocking in everything.

I—I never thought there was goodness in the world until he came and Historia gasped, surprised to see Connie standing on his car.

We rushed through the people until we got to an alley where I parked my own cruiser.

"Reiner!?"

"We're making our escape!" I barked and the whole world felt a bit woozy but I knew better. I only pretended to be beaten down.

I only fucking faked being weak and giving in and drunk.

And they took the damn bait.

"We're getting out of here—you and me, Historia!" I told her, stopping short and cupping her face.

"You don't have to stay with Ymir! You don't have to be with your dad! We can run away and find a place that's true—people who're honest! No more running, no more hiding, no more being lied to!"

Historia just stared at me—shocked.

"B-B-But Bertolt?!" She breathed, holding my hands that were on her face.

"He can take care of himself!" I shook her and she snapped out of her scared trance, nodding.

"Let's run away! Together!" She agreed, smiling with tears glistening in her eyes.

"THIS IS THE NYPD," Connie roared and the crowd was gasping.

And then Connie laughed, stopping me in my tracks as Historia crawled into the car.

"AND WE ARE READY TO PARTY!" Connie sang and the crowd laughed and clapped as the bands struck up again.

What?

No.

He said—

Fuck him.

Fuck this whole fucking town.

Fuck everything!

I had what I wanted and we'll find a new place.

I jumped in my car and we drove—we went past the skyscrapers, the apartments, and then into the suburbs, and then the country.

It got dark and we kept driving until I saw Historia nodding off over and over.

"Can we pull over…and stay somewhere nice?" Historia asked.

How many times did people ever listen to her?

"Yes, of course," I promised and brought my hand over to her leg.

She took hold of it and squeezed it—a promise to our new beginning.

Everything felt like a blur…but I'd rather feel that than nothing.

We pulled up into the rundown motel. She waited in the car as I rented a room.

One bed.

"One bed?" She asked when I opened the room.

"Is…Is that a problem? We can rent one," was I being too hasty?

All I wanted to do was hold her.

If there was more to come then I'd take it…but otherwise it was okay to sleep apart if not.

"No…no…" she smiled, hopeful, clinging to my arm.

"It's just… I never been…close with a man before…" She murmured, shy.

Oh.

It made my heart burn in happiness.

"How about…we get a few drinks and talk before bed?" She asked, departing from my arm and I nodded.

"Anything… we can do anything you want…"

She disappeared to grab some cheap wine and she came back with two glasses, smiling.

"Here," she gave me mine, sitting near me and holding it to my lips.

"Oh," I raised my eyebrows and drank from the cup she held.

It was fucking nasty—cheap ass wine—but I drank it all, laughing when she giggled.

"It's just us now…so relax…" She murmured, stroking my hair back and sipping her wine, grimacing.

"When we have our own place…I will buy you better wine…and we can have nice things every day." I promised.

She leaned into my chest, smiling.

"That'd be amazing."

We drank and drank until the world melted.

She was so warm and hot and I couldn't help but try to kiss her as the world churned and smeared like paint.

"Wait," she stopped me, "let me freshen up."

And she left to the bathroom.

She came back and floated like an angel into the fortress of my arms.

And that's how the night ended and our love began.

She was so gentle with me.

So loving.

The rest became a blur of pleasure and smiles.

Bliss.

.

.

.

My head hurt.

It felt like a train had rammed into it hundreds of times as I groaned, trying to hide my face from the light, but I was bound.

"Wh—what?" I choked, mouth dry and lips chapped.

I swayed and tried to look around but it was blinding.

I couldn't fucking see anything but white and stars.

My ears were ringing and I felt my stomach roll, threatening to heave.

"Ugh."

"Dim that fucking light," I heard a voice snap.

It was oddly familiar.

"Fucking hurry! Jesus Christ!"

It made my head hurt—it made me…sick to my stomach.

As the person demanded, the light dimmed until I could make out shadows beyond the overhead light.

I saw I was in a chair.

I was completely naked.

I felt my face turn red as I shot my head around—dear God, fucking hell my stomach and head. Why?

I couldn't move.

What…

"Whatss…whatsss going on?" I tried to ask and finally my eyes were seeing in the dark.

"I tried to tell you," Ymir spoke and I saw her face finally.

She looked guilty…upset…and hurt.

"I told you…to change your mind…why didn't you listen?" She was about to walk to me but somebody stopped her.

They pulled her onto the chair's armrest.

Huh?

Annie was on the other side, staring down at me with a frown.

They were both being held by their waists…

"Don't worry about him, dear heart," the person spoke, "no need to be guilty over a fool."

"Wh…Whats…Historia?" I squinted and she grinned—no, she was smirking like a wolf.

"Hello, farmboy." She winked, sneering, and tightened her grip on Annie and Ymir.

"It's about time you came to."


	9. Justice Prevails

"Father," Historia sat by him in the back of the car, "I thought you said that Mr. Smith would no longer associate with me."

Rod was busy patting his shiny face with a handkerchief, ridding himself of all the sweat.

"Oh? Well, change of plans. He decided to go through the investment in our company…"

Historia frowned.

"…All of it?"

"All of it," he smiled, glancing at her, "he's expecting that you will make a wonderful wife."

So it was done.

The highest bidder with the biggest investment finally bought Historia's hand in marriage.

Historia stared at her hands, trying her best not to cry.

Mr. Smith was a forty-something man who hand sausage-like hands that smelled of cheese and garbage if he didn't douse himself in pungent cologne.

"I promised him that you two will marry within the next year. He believes you will love the new house—he said it matches your hair. He also thinks that your children will inherit his mother's blonde hair, too. He's quite ec—"

"No." Historia whispered.

"What?"

"I said…N-no…I-I can't marry him. He—father, he beat his other wife and left her!"

"Oh! Nonsense! Do you believe everything you hear?"

"She had bruises, father, bruises!"

"Hush now!" Rod glared.

"He paid good money to marry you so you will deal with it. You may not know it but you might come to love him!"

"Father! I said no! No! I will not!"

"Oh? Where is this streak of defiance coming from?" Rod huffed, turning to stare at Historia with his cold eyes.

"I give you all the luxuries in the world. I fed you and took care of you after your mother tragically died—bless her soul—and yet you won't repay me at all? What an ornery child!"

"I—I'm grate—"

"No, you are not! If you are then marry him!"

"That's not fair! I—I don't want to! He—Father, for the sake of Heaven and all above, he gropes other people's wives! He—remember all his affairs? Father! He will not respect me!"

"Bah! Respect? Who cares about respect when you can live your life without lifting a finger? You will have children you will dote on and be richer than anyone! Suffering a bit of his personality is more than enough!"

"Father! You're not—"

"You know what, I don't think you're listening, Historia Krista-Lenz Reiss." He scolded her—a vein bulging on his forehead.

"Father!" Historia clenched her fists shut with her eyes.

"If you force me to do this, I will run away! And if you find me and drag me back I will bite my tongue! And if I do not bleed to death I will throw myself off a roof! I do not want to be married to him!"

Father wasn't even fazed.

"Oh, so that's how you feel, hm? I spoiled you rotten…I'm sorry I've been a terrible father. I should've made you work hard for the things I provided," he began to untie the satchel on his belt, "but I will fix this… I will bring reason to you."

"Wh-What? Father, what is—"Historia stared down in her lap at the bag.

What was it?

She opened it, peering inside.

"Mr. Braun," Rod looked up to the passenger side of the car.

A man with burly features and blond hair glanced back—Historia wouldn't know then but she'd know later that this was Reiner's father.

"I found my child with illegal items. Please, bring her to jail where she will serve her time." Rod sighed, bringing out his handkerchief again.

"Drugs!?" Historia threw the satchel back at her father.

"No! This is yours—M-Mr. Braun! Please! You know I wouldn't—"

"No excuses, Miss Reiss," Mr. Braun cried out in sadness, "I can't believe you did this."

"Oh! My Historia! Why would you do this!" Rod wailed, getting out of the car as everyone gasped, causing the social media to race over with flashing lights.

"No! Daddy! Please!"

"Oh! Historia, what have you done!?"

.

.

.

"Oi! You da' rich girl, hm? My, what pretty hair!" A woman sat by Historia, grinning, holding her hair.

Historia snatched her hair away, feeling unsafe as she cowered into herself, but deep down there was a fire starting to burn.

No.

It was a bomb that was starting to tick. Ever since her father forced her here she felt like she was about to blow up.

But when?

"We're just going to take this," another woman stole her lunch, snickering.

"Maybe we should shave these pretty locks? Wonder if her dad would pay for us to leave her alone, hm? A thousand per strand of hair? Hah!" The woman yanked at her hair.

"This bitch is so loaded—" the woman went sailing to the ground as another came over.

Historia glared at the women, wishing she had something—anything—to fight back with.

She was tired…of being the damn victim…playing stupid for the pleasure of others…being this perfect doll people got to force their expectations on…

"Leave her alone, you hags," this freckled woman jutted her jaw out, "now beat it unless you want to start shit."

"Fuck you, Ymir," one woman growled, grabbing the other and leaving.

This Ymir stared down at Historia…

Historia cringed and put her fists up.

"I—I will fuck you up!" She warned.

Ymir blinked and then glanced where the other woman had fallen—Historia's tray was messed up down there.

"Sorry I didn't get here sooner," she scratched the back of her neck, "your lunch got ruined…I owe you a lunch. Here we can share mine…how about it? You look like you're made of bones…need to get something in you…"

Historia didn't object.

But she didn't forget how skinny Ymir was and how in the showers her ribcage showed like she never ate.

In fact, she never really did as she gave her lunch away to the old and those who were picked on by the gangs…

"Hey, you made me laugh, I owe you a lunch."

"Hey, thanks for helping with cleaning—I owe you."

"—I owe you—"

Historia watched and watched every day with Ymir as they became close on how much the freckled woman did for others.

Never getting it returned.

Walked on.

Too nice for her own good.

It reminded Historia of her forced persona she had to wear for her father and everyone.

And it pissed her off.  


.

.

.

"Hey, Historia," Ymir laid in the top bunk with her, holding her bare waist, kissing her shoulder.

It had been awhile since they found themselves like this. Historia could only feel her warmth and gentleness.

Was it love?

It had to be.

"Hm?" Historia kissed her forehead, brushing her hair out of her face, feeling Ymir's naked sex gently shift against her leg.

"I heard…from the guards…your father is bailing you out tomorrow." It had been months in here.

A whole new life was formed here…one Historia loved more than her other life.

She could be herself here.

And Ymir was here, too.

"Don't worry," she knew what Ymir was thinking—that she'd leave and forget about her.

"I'm not leaving alone."

"…but how?" Ymir was scared, afraid to lose her.

Ymir knew if Historia left her she'd never find another person in her life like her. Historia was her one true love.

"Father can pay bail for a person who trespassed some rich person's property," Historia snorted and Ymir chuckled a bit.

"And stole their 'roots'. Not that they know anything of root digging."

"That's right…so do not fear, dear heart…I will never leave you."  


.

.

.

"No! I will not marry him! What do you not get you fucking piece of shit!?" Historia threw a vase at Rod, making him gasp and stare.

"What has gotten into you, young lady!? Such language and violence!? What is the mean—"

"Oh, shut up!" Historia threw the tea tray next.

"I won't take your stupid shit! I won't set fire to myself to keep you warm!" She hissed, stomping to Ymir who waited at the door.

"You-!" Rod pointed angrily at Ymir.

"You did this to her! You corrupted her! How dare—"

"Let's go, Ymir. We're done here." Historia shot, but Ymir sighed.

Always, she was made the bad guy.

And for what?

Because she had darker skin?

She seemed foreign?

Because she was tall and didn't conform to gender norms?

It was all Historia's doing—not that Ymir complained—to break free from her possessive father.

Ymir simply made her realize she had the strength to.  
.

.

.

"Historia, what're you doing?" Ymir's eyes were darting around to the small gang they accumulated.

She never thought once she got out of jail that she'd be with a girlfriend, negotiating pacts for the local gangs to become one unified force.

"We can get shot," Ymir hissed but Historia held her hand up.

"We won't. I'm too pretty to get shot." She joked and Ymir couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Sure…but I don't…Historia, I mean, please, Historia—to start a gang after stealing your father's secret stash? What the fu—"

"No… It's not a gang." Historia inhaled and exhaled, facing the doorway in her chair, relaxing in her seat as if it was the rightful throne for her all along.

"It's a revolution—it's my revenge… it's justice."

"Justice? How—"

"Trust me." Historia smiled when the other gang leaders came through the door, scoping the place out.

"Welcome, gentlemen, I hope you find this meeting worth your while."

.

.

.

Speakeasies.

Brothels.

Casinos.

Apartment complexes.

Small branches of government.

They were all theirs now.

"Historia, we don't…we don't need this small gang. They aren't doing much."

"They came to our turf and stole from one of our workers."

"They're just kids." Ymir tried to reason, looking guilty.

Historia gave a look.

"Yes but what they did was wrong. It was for their own greed."

"But, they're kids! We can't—"

The boys were blindfolded before them, cowering and crying.

The supposed 'Dark Force Gang'.

"Now, boys, either you join us and stop being a nuisance," Historia cocked the gun, glaring at them, "or you stop being a gang and leave…if not, I will shoot you."

"Historia!" Ymir barked, angry.

"What is this? Justice!?"

"Ymir…you are not the judge of how I envision the world." Historia murmured.

"I will create New York as a perfect world where everyone is safe…and everyone will have a fair chance at happiness… and I will rule it with an iron fist."

"As a tyrant? That isn't a good world—"

"Ymir," Historia shot back, tired, "there is no good in this world but I will make it the damn closest I can. No charity or fucking 'awareness' is going to bring what we desire—combat violence with violence until I'm the damn top dog of it all!"

The boys cried out in fear.

Ymir shot before her, covering them.

"They're scared! They learned their lesson!" Ymir begged.

And Historia relented.

She lowered the gun.

"We will drop them down at the wharf. I hope you boys understand what you've done."

They only nodded, bawling.

Ymir sighed, pulling away from them.

"Historia… I know things have gone wrong with you…but you cannot…you can't be what your father was…"

Historia threw the gun to Ymir after the

"I'm not. Do you really think I was going to shoot them?"

"No…"

"I wouldn't…but I can't have you undermining authority, too." Historia reached out and Ymir took her hand, sadly gazing at the ground.

"Historia… I can't be… a villain or bad guy or whatever…I'm not cut out for it."

"We are not villains, dear heart," she brought her hand up to kiss it, making Ymir smile, "the ends justify the means…and I will never make you the true villain… if the world was to crumble in on us, they'd learn I was the one all along…you were simply a figurehead."

Ymir gave a nod.

"I will pretend to be evil…if it means you will make the world good."

"Good…now, I believe we are to initiate the new recruits. Sasha says there's a cute blonde in there. How about we do it personally, hm?" Historia smiled, winking and nudging, making Ymir bark out a laugh.

"Okay, sure, sure."

.

.

.

"Ymir," Historia smiled, catching Ymir's lingering gaze as Annie left, "you seem to like the new recruit."

Ymir reddened.

"Only because you said it'd be nice to keep her around…you were the one who wanted to get 'closer'."

"Perhaps," she snickered, "so…have you thought over it? I noticed the new recruit might be taking a liking to us."

"I—I don't think I can like her that way." Ymir blurted, trying to hide away, adjusting her tie and popping her knuckles.

"Really? Shame." Historia shrugged.

-x-x-x-

"His-Historia!" I cried out, staring in disbelief.

"What—what're you doing!?"

Historia snorted, tilting her head.

"So surprised that I've played you?"

"B-But—You—Annie and Ymir—"

"Oh, that?" She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, well, I was suspicious they weren't telling me of their budding feelings for each other," she poked both of them, causing them to blush, "but that's what I wanted! Annie liked me. I'm happy with her. Ymir loves me and I love her. And I knew the two liked each other…"

"But—you two are supposed to be married and—"

"Oh, pish-posh, Braun. Not everything fits in a neat little box. Things that don't fit are perfectly fine, too. We both trust each other and like each other." Historia grinned.

"I just had to have you snoop on them so I could confirm my suspicions! They're so shy with their feelings, aren't they?" Historia laughed, causing Annie try and slip away in embarrassment but Historia kept her close to her.

"Historia—I—I tried to save you! I—I liked you! You—were—" I couldn't help but cry and laugh at the same time.

What sort of twisted joke was this?

I had to be dreaming—a fucking nightmare.

"Wh—Where's Bertolt?" I begged, sobbing.

"Oh, Berty-boy? Didn't you know?" Historia nodded and another light flicked on in the corner.

I shot a look to see Bertolt, sitting with his face planted to the table.

He had a bloody nose—and white all over it.

On the table were bricks of cocaine.

"N-no! W—What did you do!?" I—no.

Ha-ha.

Hahahahaahhaahahahaa.

This world was fucked up!

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaahhaha!

None of this was real!

"Yeah, ol' Bert boy came to me last night," Historia pouted, "crying that we let you off the hook, saying to spare you."

My eyes widened.

"What? Oh—Oh! Oh no!" Historia giggled.

"He didn't tell you he knew all along? Well, of course he did! We promised him to take care of his family. How else were his parents doing good with so many children and magically their debt being paid off, Braun?" Historia grinned, pleased as a bug in a rug.

"Why—he said he was—"

"Oh, yes, yes, he was quitting the drugs, but, you should've seen him! He was crying for you to be spared! He couldn't deal with the guilt that he practically lead his bestfriend into a trail! So he had to drown his sorrows in cocaine." Historia leaned her head back.

"Oh, your face. It's priceless, Braun." Historia laughed more but Ymir's face fell more and more with each word.

"How Ymir believed that people could change…that truth and justice would bring people to their sense…I love my darling dearest with all my heart—I truly do, Ymir—but you're too soft," Historia frowned.

"You always have been and people take advantage of that…it pains me every time…and now that we made the bet and you lost…you must see that people are set in their ways—people who think they're righteous and all."

"B—But I was going to do good—I—I was trying to save you!"

"Yeah right," Historia glared, "you were trying to save me so you could get in my knickers."

She got up and revealed a gun.

"I have a message to send to my father and yours."

"Wh—what?! Historia—"

"No, don't worry, this gun isn't going to be your end."

"But—Historia! We slept together! You—"

"Wrong. You slept with one of our whores," she nodded and in came a woman with a grin, waving at him.

They looked just like Historia.

"What—no! You were there!" I tried again but she shushed me.

"I drugged your wine. And they followed your cruiser. We switched places."

The whore came up and—no.

"Hey," it wasn't a woman but a very womanly man.

"Good work, Armin," Historia shooed him off and I felt sick to my stomach.

I dry heaved but nothing was coming.

"Wh—"

"That part was just for fun and to see what kind of person you were—which, you know, you turned out to be the worst." Historia clapped her hands and a rattling came.

A woman with a cart of…torture devices.

"Ooh! Historia, I got new things!" The woman with glasses jumped around excited.

"What're we to do today!? Who is—Oh! He is the old Police Chief's son! Oooh! Getting back on that bastard finally, hm?"

"Yes." Historia sat back down.

"I want to watch this…so I know what I've done."

"Oh? What do you mean?" The woman asked, preparing a knife.

"It's for my guilty conscious," Historia spoke, frowning, "for every person who dies for wronging me, I watch…so I know what sacrifices I've made to make the world a better place…"

"How noble!"

"Historia—it doesn't—"

"It does." Historia cut off Ymir.

"No—"

"You lost the bet—people are irredeemable."

"Please! I tried to do what's right!" I begged because I knew this was my end.

"Stop! I—I tried to help! I was doing what was best! Please!"

"People like you, Braun…make me sick…you only do kindness and justice for the reward in the end. Now listen carefully to what I got to say so you can learn your life's lesson." Historia leaned forward, smiling bitterly.

"The world owes you nothing."

A gun shot went off.

Historia cursed.

The last image I had was Ymir pointing her gun at me with tears.

"I owe you," Ymir whispered.

I suffered no more.

_Thank you, my friend._


	10. Epilogue

"There's something here for you, Mr. Reiss." Rod threw down the paper, glaring.

The headline—Ex-Police Chief's Son Missing.

Mr. Braun stood to Mr. Reiss's side, quiet and tired.

"Give it here, then," he growled as the servant brought the box to him.

"Whose it from?!"

"M-Miss Historia," the servant bowed quickly and fled as Rod stared at it.

He untied the ribbon slowly.

Slid the cover off and then gasped, letting it fall to the ground.

Reiner Braun's finger rolled out of it with a note.

'You're next.'

  
.

.

.

_Fifteen years later…_  


The tropical breeze brought a sweet scent of sea salt and smoky meat through the window as the overhead fan clanked away, trying to keep the room cool.

The television played King Kong in the corner of the room as a man read the book, Beauty & the Beast. It was his favorite and he never got tired of it—it struck a chord within him that he couldn't quite place.

His children were outside, playing with fair blonde hair—a boy and girl. They were dark in complexion like their Native Hawaiian mother.

"Hm," the man smoked on his pipe, wearing an eyepatch.

His hand went up—missing a finger, taking the pipe out of his mouth.

"Excuse me," a man knocked on the door, smiling, and the sitting blond man turned and then smiled.

"Oh, Bertolt, is that you? You're visiting again?" He chuckled and Bertolt smiled, sitting down on the couch.

"Only for awhile, Mr. Braun."

"Oh, what did I say about that? I'm Reiner!"

"Of course, of course," Bertolt smiled bright, "I will remember…Reiner."

"So, what brings you here, Bert-boy?"

The name was so familiar on Reiner's tongue. It was strange.

One day a few years ago, this man came bumbling by, lost, and it was like they were long lost best friends.

Which was strange because he never once been to New York.

Well, he might've…he didn't quite remember.

His wife and her family found him unconscious on the shore, beaten up bad with a gunshot wound and finger missing with poorly done medical attention.

That was…fifteen years ago?

"Just popping in for work." Bert rubbed the back of his head.

"Oh, good work if it brings you here!" Reiner laughed.

"Heh…yeah…so, Mister B—Reiner…Reiner… um, I got a question."

"Oh? I've got an answer!" He chuckled.

"I have a friend who asked something I couldn't quite answer…It's an opinionated question…"

"Hoh?"

"Yeah…do you think…the ends justify the means? Like, if someone did bad…but it turned out to be for the best?"

"Hm." Reiner sat back, frowning, smoking on his pipe.

"You don't have to answer it," Bertolt fidgeted, "it's a weird question…"

"Well, Bert, I will," he smiled, nodding.

"Yeah?"

Reiner peered out the window.

"I do believe the ends justify the means."

"Oh…" Bertolt thought it over.

He thought hard.

"I don't know why, ol' sport," Reiner puffed at his pipe, "but I have a feeling I had a conversation like this before…I don't know with who or when…but I know that it was with a friend."

Reiner smiled, laughing.

"Isn't that strange?"


End file.
